My regulars know I’ve been re-acclimating to work. Most everyone has been very nice. They say it’s nice to have me back and ask about Felix and Stella. It has really been a pleasant homecoming of sorts.
But you know there’s one in every crowd.
I have actually written about this dude before (https://larva225.wordpress.com/2013/01/11/flub-in-an-elevator/). Bless his ancient, liver-spotted heart, but he managed to dine on his sensible shoes yet again the first time he spotted me. He looked me up. He looked me down. He shouted, “Boy! You must have had a baby?” And then he waited for me to answer him, grinning goofily. He waited a minute as I stifled my irritation and thought about what I wanted to say.
I really, really wanted to tell him that no, I had merely had bariatric surgery, and that the weight loss was going swimmingly. I thought about saying that I had never seen him before and introduce myself as Nadia. I thought about saying something to the effect that the doctors thought the tumor was a record-breaker. But I was raised to tell the truth and not to be mean to my elders. I also figured that might prolong this conversation. So I fessed up to having another baby.
He wanted to know gender. Boy. And the name? Well, once upon a time (in the Paleozoic Period, I guess) in church he worked with an acolyte named Felix. A scrappy little thing who got in a brawl with another acolyte on Easter Sunday and had to walk down the aisle with a broken crucifix. Maybe my son would be scrappy like “his” Felix.
What in the hell are you supposed to say to people like that? Why can my boss not forbid these people from talking to me or anyone else for that matter? Put me in isolation. Something. Anything. I’m too tired to be polite all the time.
This old fart should be glad I’m not “scrappier.”