The adventures of Ms Talks-A-Lot and Slurpy McNoseblower
I have worked with many people over the years who I would quite happily throw out the window if my life was a cartoon, which unfortunately it is not.
Two of these people stick out, who I’m sure everyone can relate to. If you look around the office and you don’t know who this person is, it’s you.
First, we'll meet Ms Talks-A-Lot...
You know what she had for dinner last night, what she did for the weekend, what she’s doing next weekend, what she’s wearing to her friend’s wedding, where she went on holidays, where she’s going on holidays, what her other half does for a living, what days he plays football, what her kids are getting from Santa, what colour she’s painting the spare room, what carpet she’s getting for the hall, stairs and landing, what she had for breakfast, what diet she’s on this week, all about her health issues, what she thinks of Cheryl Cole, Colleen Rooney, Desperate Housewives and every other television programme known to woman.
She knows you work in the same building.
Then, there's Slurpy McNoseblower ...
Most people will believe that we evolved from the apes. I’m not so sure I believe that. I don’t think everyone has evolved.
In the 80s this guy he would have a moustache and get bits of his egg and beetroot sandwiches stuck in the bristles. Now it’s sushi, but the moustache remains. Movember is not just for November it seems.
He pours himself a glass of milk and settles down, spreading his food and newspaper over two tables, taking up space for four. He opens his chicken ramen, digs in his spoon and proceeds to slobber and slurp his way through. He picks up the salmon nigiri with his dirty, fingernail bitten fingers, sloshes on some soy sauce, dips into wasabi and gobbles it down. He finishes with a packet of Japanese rice crackers, eaten with gusto, mouth open so you can hear every crunch.
When he finishes, and you attempt to start eating the food you haven’t been able to touch during his feeding time, he stands up, gets a napkin, blows his nose clear of anything that ever lived there, sloshes a bit of cold water in his glass and leaves it on the draining board to drip out the remains of milk.
If only my life was a cartoon.