One of the things I like about the company I work for is that they have a refrigerator where I can stash my lunch (provided no one steals it) and a large break room where I can chill out, have lunch and read a book. According to Paul McKenna, I’m not supposed to read while I’m eating (and maybe that’s why I am not losing weight) but … if I don’t read, people will talk to me. Yes, I have issues. So what?
One of the women who will talk to me if I’m not reading (and sometimes when I am reading, but I cured her of that. The hard way) gets on her phone every single day and talks to someone (usually her daughter-in-law but sometimes her husband) for her entire lunch period. While she’s eating. And she is usually eating something crunchy, like potato chips. I suppose if the other person doesn’t think it’s rude that she calls and munches in their ear while she’s talking that it is no concern of mine. However I would hang up on her because I do find it rude – extremely rude. Whatever happened to manners and common (or uncommon as the case may be) courtesy?
She has learned not to bother me while I’m reading, but she talks to another woman who joins her for lunch – but when her phone rings she answers it immediately. Even if she’s in the middle of a sentence with the other woman. It’s amazing. Through these conversations I have learned:
- her cell phone number
- her son’s name, her daughter-in-law’s name, her grandchildrens names
- all of their dates of birth, including the years
- her social security number (gleaned while she was calling somewhere about a bill she received)
- her approximate home location (though not the address. Give me time. I’ll get it)
- the layout of her house
- the hours her son and daughter-in-law work and what time they pick up their kids
- she babysits after work, so when I learn her address, I will know where those kids are at any given time
- how much debt her son has incurred for household expenses, including the birth of their daughter (and how long it took to pay off the hospital for the grandson’s birth)
- the insurance her son has
- the exact coverage he has
- her car payment
- her mortgage payment
- her son’s allergies
- her grandson’s allergies
- her grandson’s favorite everything – tv show, food, toy, blanket, and sippy cup
- her grandson’s first words
- everything that fucking kid says (and none of it is as intelligent or amusing as she believes)
- her license plate number
- that her husband will be working out of town for approximately six months
- that they have a lake house where they go almost every weekend
If I wanted to, I could own that woman. I could BE her. Easily.
About six months ago, someone got her credit card number and used it. And she can’t figure out how that happened. (It wasn’t me)
Another woman I work with (who sits very close to me) needed a new credit card – so she called the bank. I now know her social security number.
I’m a bit of an idiot savant with numbers – I remember them. I remember my ex-girlfriend’s social security number and she only gave it to me once (and I don’t remember why, but I do remember the number. Odd). Twenty years ago, my state used to have 21-digit drivers license numbers. I still remember mine.
One day Bosshole passed me on the interstate on the way to work. I told her I saw her and she asked me how I knew it was her (because she ROARED by me). I told her I knew her license plate number. She freaked out and yelled, “You memorized my license plate?!?!?!?!?”
I felt bad for making her wig out. I said, “Yeah, but .. I didn’t mean to! It just stuck in my brain.”
I have a ton of data in my head. I just wish I could use it to take over the planet do something good with it.