She’s on drugs. She has to be.
She waltzed in after yesterday’s performance with a smile plastered on her face and a ‘Helllllooooo Peas, how are we today?”
Slightly confused and caught off guard by her sterling ‘this is me on ecstasy’ stature, “I’m fine…thanks?”
I have a hangover this morning, only exacerbating the irritation. It's as though a Frenchman is swinging a mallet around inside my cerebrum. It's really uncomfortable.
The turnaround in her behaviour and obvious contempt towards me yesterday deserves an Oscar. Now that she’s conceptualised that me, her little deputy editor scab, is leaving, she’s in heaven. She’s tripping on happiness and laying it on so thick, I want to vomit – right here on my keyboard. And maybe I just will.
Perhaps after swallowing a large handful of hecstasy and the concept of me – someone who doesn’t copy and paste my articles from the Web and press releases – going, she’s literally bouncing off the company water cooler.