Illogical logic
Women are interesting creatures. Our minds can think 50 different directions from one starting point to other points, and then map 50 different return routes to said starting point via other points. By the time we’ve done that we’ve turned a simple situation into something so elaborate and intricate, we’re calling in HAZMAT over what is a simple burned pot roast.
How does this work exactly? You might be wondering to yourself, let alone why am I spending time writing about gender psychology. I’ll get to that in a moment.
Take for example, me. I want to go to the pub with a mate. I however, don’t want him paying for my drinks, because then he might expect some sort of compensation.
Now, a typical bloke would have just told me I jumped to conclusions. They would be thinking this:
Co-worker/mate buys single co-worker female drink at pub after work (a) --->Just wanted to be nice because saw she had lousy day (b).
However, I would argue that I made a careful, logical decision:
Co-worker/mate buys single co-worker female drink at pub after work (a) --->Just wanted to be nice because saw she had lousy day and wanted to help her take her mind off of things (b.1)
--->Has interest in co-worker and wanted to get her out of work environment in casual setting, yet interest isn’t mutual (b.2)
--->Bored and can’t get anyone else to drink with him (b.3)
--->Other (b.4)
Safest solution for all: Go but purchase my own drink (c.1-4).
See how simple that was?
Now you’ll understand why that for me to be allowed to consume chocolate at work because it is my “fuck-off” week (not to mention be a snippy bitch), I have to bring some for everyone else, so as not to come off as a pmsing glutton. It also entitles me to be hormonal because I am providing chocolate to all the other women I work with so that when they are their normal pissy selves, I can be exceedingly bitchy and just say that we’re all purely hormonal this week. This all of course is evident due to massive chocolate consumption and snarkish conversation amongst the female natives.
Don’t get me started on why I buy myself cut tulips as opposed to potted ones when I have a green thumb...I think I’ve revealed far too much already.
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A Typical Day at Work
Exhibit A
“Bio, you’ve a call on line one, Bio, line one please,” they told me over the radio. In my typical fashion I pick up the phone in front of me, press the button with the flashing light, and answer it, “Thank you for holding, this is Bio, how can I help you?”
“You are a hard woman to track down,” came the voice of one of my customers over the other end of the line, one of the ones I can actually be myself with, without them having a stick up their ass, with professional limits of course.
“Oh hi, how are you? I was trying to get ahold of you earlier regarding your project but was unsuccessful.” I replied. We then discuss the project and suddenly, those professional limits disappear.
“Do you like really bad boys?” he asked me. I had to pause for a moment trying to process what I thought I had just heard over the phone.
“Do you like reeeeeaaaaaallly baaaaaaad boys?” he repeated to me.
“Uh, well who doesn’t?” I replied, still flabbergasted at this.
“What is your schedule like? Want to get a cocktail (yes, he said “cocktail") sometime this week?” he asked me.
“Sure,” I replied, “but I can’t really discuss this here as I am at work.”
Honestly, compared to all the other people I’ve encountered here, he was refreshing, not to mention bold. Although there was no attraction whatsoever, it would make for an entertaining hour or so in the midst of an otherwise monotonous life.
Exhibit B
My work area spans a cornered section of the workplace. Everyone and their mother decides to crowd around me and poke at my computer monitor to figure out how to print a project to our oversized colour machine. Something that I know how to do blindfolded. In the midst of this, I have to pee. Like a racehorse.
“Well, I don’t see why it isn’t doing it this size. I think the dimensions needs to be reentered, and I don’t know why the communication isn’t occuring,” said one of my coworkers, who was standing over my right shoulder to the customer standing over my left.
“Does someone know how to print to that machine and fix it?” asked the customer standing over my right shoulder to the other coworker standing directly behind me.
“I do,” I replied to the congregation behind me,” and I would love to do it for you, but I am currently feeling rather boxed in at the moment and I really need to pee, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll go to that and return to take care of it for you.”
“You go right on ahead and do that,” said the customer, chuckling.
So I am washing my hands in the restroom when I hear the first coworker ask over the radio “Does someone know how to print to the oversized colour machine?”
Exhibit C
I’m intensively working on a project on my computer, trying to get my work done.
“Urthackta meg,” I heard someone speak behind me, but I couldn’t quite make it out.
“Ursakta mig...” I finally heard.
“What the....?” I ask myself as I pivot my chair around. I then realise it was a Finnish customer I had helped in Swedish a few months back. I then realised this and switched my brain on, and proceeded to help him again in Swedish, with my coworkers occasionally walking past us looking at us as if we’ve sprouted seven heads currently growing an eighth.
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