The Place Where I Work: Frau
There’s a woman who works on my floor that I call (in my head) Frau. Frau has a thin line moustache, wears sensible shoes in the office and Vans with slouchy socks when the clock strikes 5PM. She is off like a lil critter of some sort, seemingly unburdened by her 2 small totes and purse. She is lil- not little- because I wear heels in the office and if I stand next to her by the copier she (the top of her head) just reaches my underboob.
My first day here Frau looked out for me. I guess I had that lost look. She took me by the arm and led me to café` and showed me how things worked. Who to get in good with and when to go up for lunch to insure you DON’T miss the boneless wing platter…like I did once. You know me, I am simple. You help me to acquire food and you’ve got a friend. Feeding me good food insures friendship for a life time.
Frau and I barely speak. Though like the magical lil critter I think her to be, she appears when I need her most. Like when the copy machine is doing something fucked up or Mr. Darcy (remember him) inappropriately stares at me. She furrows her lil brow and he pretends to look elsewhere.
In my head I sometimes imagine that Frau and I are office cohorts. An unlikely pair. Me all tall, shapely n’ exotic. And she all short, matronly and moustache having. We are best buddies in my head. I make her laugh till she has to clutch her lil chest- then smooth her poly-blend top almost ashamed she let herself go and wrinkle it with laughter, and she saves me from office lothario’s like this one dude who was speaking English just fine till he saw me and then started speaking Spanish and giving me…’the look’. The ‘I want to put more than the tip in but will get too excited and just make a mess’ look.
I gave him my ‘lazy cat when they have no use for you’ look because I am not Spanish/Latina- and I speak very little Espanol. I understand enough to keep me from getting gang-banged. Safety first, bitches.
Anways, if Frau was there, she would’ve placed her little body between us and given him a ‘you should know better young man’ look. Then Frau and I would continue our discussion about last night’s TrueBlood and how to make a great meatball.
Good times.
My first day here Frau looked out for me. I guess I had that lost look. She took me by the arm and led me to café` and showed me how things worked. Who to get in good with and when to go up for lunch to insure you DON’T miss the boneless wing platter…like I did once. You know me, I am simple. You help me to acquire food and you’ve got a friend. Feeding me good food insures friendship for a life time.
Frau and I barely speak. Though like the magical lil critter I think her to be, she appears when I need her most. Like when the copy machine is doing something fucked up or Mr. Darcy (remember him) inappropriately stares at me. She furrows her lil brow and he pretends to look elsewhere.
In my head I sometimes imagine that Frau and I are office cohorts. An unlikely pair. Me all tall, shapely n’ exotic. And she all short, matronly and moustache having. We are best buddies in my head. I make her laugh till she has to clutch her lil chest- then smooth her poly-blend top almost ashamed she let herself go and wrinkle it with laughter, and she saves me from office lothario’s like this one dude who was speaking English just fine till he saw me and then started speaking Spanish and giving me…’the look’. The ‘I want to put more than the tip in but will get too excited and just make a mess’ look.
I gave him my ‘lazy cat when they have no use for you’ look because I am not Spanish/Latina- and I speak very little Espanol. I understand enough to keep me from getting gang-banged. Safety first, bitches.
Anways, if Frau was there, she would’ve placed her little body between us and given him a ‘you should know better young man’ look. Then Frau and I would continue our discussion about last night’s TrueBlood and how to make a great meatball.
Good times.
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