Worker Bee goes cRAzY
June 24, 2010
At first, I thought Jay was a nice guy.
A ruddy, tubby, nerdy little bearded man who was sweet, if a little shy. His lisp was endearing, the sound of his adenoids filtering his voice gave him an innocent, childlike quality.
When he broke up with his girlfriend – on the phone, in the middle of the working day, when there was no-one else around – I was there for him. Later on, he thanked me, and said he couldn’t come to my party that weekend but that he really wants to meet my friends, so he asked me to invite him next time. He stared at me for a while, with some odd intention in his eyes.
The next week, he commented that we spend so much time together, he must be my ‘work boyfriend’.
The week after that, he was very stressed out, and blamed it on the fact that he ‘just wants to be married’.
That same week he came into my office and said he was ‘going to punch somebody’ and that ‘it was ‘going to be a woman’. He huffed and puffed and eventually left the room. A while later he came back and apologized in a flap of guilt. I said, probably with a slightly skeptical tone, ‘That’s ok, but I’m in the middle of something right now’ brushing him off.
I gave him a bit of space after that, thinking he was becoming a little… stressed… needy… uptight… obbessive… aggressive… homicidal…? Who knows?! This is North America! He could walk in with a gun one day and take us all down. What if he’s on some crazy meds and, as his physique may indicate, decides that he doesn’t like to play sport, he doesn’t have to play sport and you can’t MAKE HIM PLAY SPORT!
He spent a few weeks being gloomy, moping about and stammering and wanting attention. He would come into my office and drop papers on my desk in a huff then flounce out again like a misunderstood teenager. Begging my asking in a sympathetic tone: ‘What’s wrong?’
I avoided him. And that served to make matters worse. In a staff meeting he called me and two others out for ‘not washing the dishes enough’ and some other pathetic complaints that were no doubt devised to, again, get attention.
Then as if by magic, he came into work swaggering around and laughing very loudly at inopportune moments. Is he on prozac?
Not long after, face flushed and rolling up his sleeves he burst into my office and hunkered by my desk.
‘I feel like things have been different with us for the last few weeks’.
Inside, I’m barfing.
‘Yeh, I just wanted to give you space to deal with all your stuff, you seemed pretty stressed’ I say.
‘Are you sure, is there something that I’ve done?’ he says.
‘No it’s fine, really. Thanks though’
‘Well, you did say that about the dishes in the staff meeting, which was weird, but I think the others were more annoyed than I was so that’s ok’
‘yes, really don’t worry about it’
‘yeh, really, it’s fine, don’t worry’
With that, he flounces off again.
Since then, we’ve barely spoken to one another – he doesn’t make eye contact, he won’t deliver anything to me that he’s meant to deliver he leaves it in my mailbox instead.
Today, we all had lunch together and he was talking about how he’s never camped. Ever. Never taken a dip in a lake, or the sea. He was surprised to hear that the north pacific ocean is cold.
His lisp is a source of constant irritation now. His adenoid voice sending shivers of alert annoyance down my spine. I grimmace when i hear him laugh.
Why? Why such a strong reaction to this soft-faced, little man who bleaches the part of his beard that rests directly beneath his nose?
Because he’s spoilt. He’s a spoilt 37 year old Mamma’s boy who thinks he has mental health issues. He doesn’t have mental health issues, he’s just a drama queen who needs to grow up. It’s guys like him who make it harder for the rest of us, and parents like his who have given him so much of everything he wants, that he just refuses to behave like a real person. He refuses to be alone and so trudges from one relationship to the next bending over backwards for she-who-could-be-anyone, changing his interests and clinging on until he’s dumped again. He is the perfect example of a case where over analysis has lead to extreme self-involvement and not to any degree of self-awareness.
If we were at home he’d get a kick up the arse and a bucket of water over his head for his trouble.
Cold enough for ya?