Sir Talk-a-Lot UPDATE:
I must first apologize to my coworker, who we’ll just refer to as Sandy, who unwittingly got caught up in the verbal tsunami of Sir Talk-a-Lot this morning.
See what-had-happen-was, on Tuesday’s, Sandy usually stops by my desk while she heats up her coffee in the microwave. We exchange pleasantries…catch up on our weekend activities – basic office chit chat stuff.
As we’re talking about the torrential rain last night, my sump pump, and my jackleg-fix to my walkup basement drainage issue, Sir Talk-a-Lot approaches from my right. Sandy, who is standing in the doorway of my cubical to my left, looks up at him, smiles, then suddenly takes one big step back – giving up her position in the doorway.
That’s because this big bamma just steps into the doorway in front of her – while I’m in mid-convo – and takes her place in my doorway. I’m thinking…’How you just gonna ruff Sandy off like that – in the middle of my conversation – and bogart her out the way? That’s rude!’ But as we already know, social etiquette is not Sir Talk-a-Lot’s thing.
So I finish my last sentence, he say, “Hope you don’t mind if I switch gears for a second, but…” STOP!!!! WAIT A FREAKING MINUTE!!!! Is this bamma about bogart a woman, inject himself into an on-going conversation, interrupt it, and then change the topic??? Well yes this he is. “…but my son’s team just won the lacrosse championship in sudden death overtime after being down 0-4!”, he say with fist pumping jubilation…literally…he was pumping his fist.
Sandy and I reacted with surprise and ovation. But inward I knew I was in for a long excruciating morning; and Sandy (poor thing) her patience was going to be truly tested at this early 6:45am hour.
So he goes in.
As the defensive coach for the team, he recounts quarter by quarter. Big play by big play. Arms flailing, voice…demonstrative. He’s using Sandy as a defender to show defensive strategy. He’s going on and on about how they engaged in psychological warfare with the coaches from the opposing team.
I looked at Sandy. She’s holding it together – smiling and laughing…fully engaged in the conversation. I tried to get her attention and tell her to stop looking so darn interested. But she didn’t get it.
So he goes on and on…about how one kid got hurt and how he administered medical attention. Then he takes a detour and starts talking about the emergency medical class he took in college and how tight his EMT-game is…evidenced by his Spidey-sense-like instincts that kicked in one day when he witnessed a car accident. I’ll spare you the detail I was not.
As he continued, Sandy and I were now both trying to figure out how to get out of the EMT/lacrosse rabbit-hole. For a brief moment, Sir Talk-a-Lot walked away. But that was only a comma in his long story. He came back with an appending thought.
But see, I knew his pattern. The hope that his feigned departure was the end to the story…only to have those hopes dashed upon his return! 3 times! Sandy was none the wiser. It was funny seeing her attempt to walk away only to be sucked back into Sir Talk-a-Lot’s tsunami vortex.
Alas, the fourth time he departed, 40 minutes elapsed. With the most serious face I could make, I pointed for Sandy to RUN back to her desk. If we both couldn’t make it out alive, I at least wanted to spare her any further agony.
As she turned and high-tailed it back to her desk, I rose from my seat and quick-stepped it right behind her. I didn’t look back. I even ducked down a little so he wouldn’t see my head departing in hast. For if he came back, I just wanted him to see an empty cube.
I hung out at Sandy’s desk for a minute. Poor thing, she hadn’t even unpacked her bags. And her coffee was cold. She had to heat it up all over again.
Sir Talk-a-Lot never came back. But the damage had been done. The wreckage was already strewn about. My hope is that he just doesn’t come back later today with another appendage to his story.