for a preface, see the home page of my work stories: Paradise (aka The Job)
Once upon a time at work, we would set out paper placemats at breakfast. On each placemat we would set a paper napkin and our sturdy metal silverware. After each resident ate, the papers would get thrown away. The papers served almost no purpose so it always seemed like such a waste. In the last year, as the budget has been cinched tighter and tighter, our manager decided to begin setting breakfast with a cloth napkin and the metal silverware. No more placemats.
No one seemed to miss them, except one particular gentleman, whose outrage at their disappearance was his topic of conversation for weeks afterward. He would lay out his cloth napkin flat and use it like a placemat. He would even bring in his own paper napkin to compensate for the loss of the cloth napkin's use. One day, several weeks into the change, he made a point of loudly conversing about his method of "coping with the loss of the placemats," stating that without a placemat the silverware is simply too loud when set on the wooden table. Finally, he restated the whole thing directly to me.
"See here, I lay out my napkin flat to use as a placemat," said Mr. Placemats. "Those silverware are just too loud against the table otherwise."
Doing my best to remain professional, I responded with the most blank face I could muster. "That's very inventive of you," I said, managing to be truthful and polite.
"No," was his response as I continued working, clearing the places near him. "It's called making do with what you have."
"Isn't that what inventive means?" I asked, to which he looked a bit dumbfounded.
"Well...I suppose," was all he said before falling silent for once.
Mr. Placemats is probably the most polite name I can give him, as the obsession over placemats is not the only drama in which he stars.
He has loudly proclaimed in the dining room that the French Fries are "horrible...soggy...HORSE SHIT."
He has reamed cleaning staff for throwing out rotten, moldy food from his refrigerator. "I was gonna eat that..."
He has complained about my cooking one day and then approached me the next to say with a glowing face that I always do "such a fine job. You've really outdone yourself today."
He throws his used pads on the floor (not the garbage can) of his apartment as a gift to cleaning staff.
He has made inappropriate comments about the underaged kitchen aides:
"I don't suppose they could take their break on my lap..?"
"No. Then we'd have a problem."
If he makes a demand and meets with any resistance, he begins to manufacture poisonous combinations of insults and cursing, splurting them loudly and repeatedly at the person who has dared draw any kind of line in the sand.
Needless to say, "Mr. Placemats" is not a favorite of staff.
Just yesterday as I was clearing a table, he approached it and said, "Well...she took my napkin...my nice, clean napkin."
I had no patience for this, admittedly. "Oh...life is hard. I'll get you another one."
He then had to wait 60 entire seconds for me to take away the dirty things, bring back a new napkin and silverware, and wipe down the otherwise dirty table. If waiting 60 seconds is your biggest problem, your life is pretty darn good. Just saying.
When I get back to the table, he continues lecturing. "Couldn't you tell by me coming in and getting breakfast and laying out my napkin that I was going to sit there??"
No, honestly I wasn't paying attention to you. I was helping the people who need it and cleaning off this dirty table.
Newsflash: you are not the center of mine or any other universe.
Then today he does a total 180 and approaches me after breakfast, smiling. "My dear," he begins, "I won't be seeing you after awhile."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"Well, I'm going away."
"Oh, like on vacation?"
"No, honey...I'm moving away. This Saturday." Then he explained the details of his move and how he may have to come back to our facility to "say hello" to us. And to me. Really? Lay it on a little thicker, man.
Again, doing my best to be both honest and polite, I say not "we'll miss you," but rather, "good for you."
His response? A glowing smile and a "Thank you, dear."
That man is a puzzle. A coworker of mine told me today that he just does and says what he does to get a reaction. He feeds on the power trip of knowing he's gotten under someone's skin. He's one of those people that other people need protection from. He's one that I have walled away from myself with my blank looks and vague politeness and by letting his words, good and bad, go in one ear and out the other.
So exits Mr. Placemats from our little corner of the working world.
His absence will be felt by every last one of us.
It'll also be followed by champagne.
No comments:
Post a Comment