Strategy

I’ve always prided myself as a moderate in the office; you know, if you get close enough to me, you realize I’m a little off but from a distance I maintain myself professionally enough to “pass” as normal. I’m pretty good at office drag. I’m done with it, though. I am done with diplomacy. Done with maintaining appearances. Everyone else lets her crazy out: why do I have to hide mine?

In my three weeks back at work I have found myself almost constantly at the mercy of The Crazy. I have been expending far too much energy overcompensating for The Crazy. I have been heard to exclaim, “Holy shit! I forgot about all The Crazy in this office!” It is, in fact, crazy-making.

Here’s an example. I have better ones but they’re not for the Internet.

Co-worker A and I got on the elevator the other day. There was a sheet of plywood on the floor and padding hanging on the walls.
“I like what they’ve done with the elevator,” I commented.
“It’s for the clog-dancing,” said Co-worker A.
“No!” said Crazy A, “it’s for MOVING. So the floor doesn’t get all scratched up.”
“Ha!” I said, “I think it would be GREAT for clog-dancing.” And then I demonstrated some clog-dancing for the group. In doing this, I lost my grip on my lunch, a plastic container filled with lukewarm pasta. The lid popped off, the fork and a bunch of food flew out and across the elevator, scattered across the floor.
“Eek!” said Crazy A.
“Oook,” said Crazy B.
“Hahahahahaha! said I as I crouched to pick up the food.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” said Crazy B, “that’s not your job!”
Co-worker A and I looked at each other incredulously.

And the elevator went ding and off we all wandered.

It was Co-worker A who took the time to point out to me that while I was busy thinking of them as crazy, they were actually formulating a new vision of ME as crazy because I’d tossed pasta at them and laughed hysterically. And this made me so incredibly happy I decided to run with it.

In aid of this, I am watching a fabulous movie called Orca. It’s about a killer whale who swears revenge against the fisherman who kills his (the whale’s) wife and baby. The fisherman harpoons the whale. Then the whale finishes herself off on the propeller. Then the fishermen hoist her up so that she’s dangling from her tail over the deck and she gives birth, right there, to a small baby whale, which drops THUD on the deck and is subsequently washed off into the ocean by the skeeved-out fisherman, all while the male orca wails and bares his many teeth at the sky.

Hey. It’s important research. I am going to talk about Orca all week long. I figure after a week my reputation as “desperately unhinged” will be solid enough that the volume of people who feel comfortable coming to my desk and asking me questions will be significantly decreased.

And then I will be left to drink far too much coffee and surf the Internet in peace.