PlatKat.com

Much to no one’s surprise, in my short time here I have already compiled a list of people I’d like to stab mercilessly. Their mere presence in the hallway, near my cube, on this earth sickens and disgusts me such that it takes every ounce of my being to keep from thrusting my company-issued ballpoint pen into their fleshy, bobbling necks.

Going into the specifics of why I want to stab people would take days. Here, I will concentrate on one instance where I feel the stabbing would be especially warranted.

There’s some old lady here who works in a cube near me that I just encountered today. She’s fairly thin and on the shorter side, but sturdy enough to be noticeable. If she has children, she definitely has grandchildren, but to throw out a number to guess her age is as pointless as analyzing how many grains of sand there are in the average handful. I don’t know her name, her role at the company, or anything about her, and I don’t care. All I know is that I absolutely hate the way she looks at me and I wish she were fucking dead.

All my life, everywhere I’ve worked, I’ve always been on the younger end of the scale, if not the youngest person in the group or company. (Someone, somewhere is laughing very hard at this.) As a professional young female human, working in a male human’s world (Futurama reference), I’ve encountered and also successfully avoided many a conflict with my elders. I’ve found that going out of my way to be extra-nice to them is crucial to evade the common practice of putting a bounty on my head. Uglying up for the office also works.

Still, some conflicts are unavoidable, so as with any other ridiculous bullshit gone horribly awry, I deem myself responsible for muting it as much as possible. I manage to do it through a myriad of nonchalant, passive-aggressive activities, such as writing blog posts like this one.

I don’t know what the fuck is up with this lady, but every time she looks at me, I internally cringe. On the outside, I try to smile and look pleasant. Regardless, every time I pass her, she looks at me with the face and posture of maddening condescension. Surrounding her pale frame is a giant electron cloud of indignity, ridicule, mockery, and a pinch of straight-up dispisal. This is so far above any level of unprecedented, undeserved malice toward another person that there isn’t even a true word in the English language to appropriately describe the air of disgust this woman exudes in my direction.

Oh my God, I want to stab her more than I’ve ever wanted to stab anyone in my life. Whatever assumptions she has about me are probably horrid and most likely true. Be that as it may, this type of treatment is totally ridiculous. If I can’t stab her, I really hope she drops dead. I don’t know if I can take eleven more months of this without going completely insane.