nauseatedI've ranted before about the woman who sits just the other side of my cubicle wall, and her inability to discuss anything at a volume lower than full-on office broadcast strength. I can cope with the moldy condominium walls, and her inability to find a decent repair person. I don't really mind hearing about her stamp club (rubber stamps, not postal), even when she tells the same story for the seventy-fifth time.
But today's rehearsal? Today we get to hear, over and over and over again, how yesterday she borrowed some pain meds from another woman in the office which subsequently made her sick. As in, puking in the trash can sick. Or rather, not quite aiming properly, and puking under the desk as well as in the trash can. shudder
It's to the point of making me nauseated - I've given up any hope of lunch sounding anything but nasty. It was bad enough being here yesterday when it actually happened - fortunately I was on my way out the door, so I missed the olfactory consequences one of the other women who sits over there was complaining about this morning.
You know, back in the day we at least had stupid party stories to go with the recounting of events like this. Yuk.
