I sit at work, at a job that is not what I thought it would be, and I’m trying to think about the good things in my life, as I wish to God I could just walk out right now, but I have students to help, and Lord knows my students need the help. I sit here, at my desk, day after day, analyze people. More on that later. But today, I’ll talk about Brian (Bryan, Bryon, who gives a fuck? Moving on…) So Brian comes by my desk a lot, says hello, and usually makes some lame ass comment about football, my flowers, my coffee mug, my shoes; anything to distract from the fact that Brian, is in fact, staring at my tits.

This week the company decided that we were moving. What the fuck does that mean? I have no flipping idea. In addition to moving, I get to physically move all my shit too, so now there’s boxes surrounding me as I work. Did I mention by “work” I mean I do homework and shop online? Because I pretty much “work” with 3 students a day, 4 hours tops and that’s when I’m busy. Sorry, I get side tracked SO easily. Fuck. Oh yeah, Brian. He likes my boobies. So anyway, Brian sees my boxes all packed up and my Halloween shit all put away, and he brilliantly has to make a comment about how long it took me to pack my stuff (5 minutes. I threw all my shit in a boxes, sorting it will take hours. I now have something to do next week. Raise the roof, bitch).

So again, Brain likes to come by and say hello. I actually don’t mind him. He’s wildly unattractive, to a point that I get lost in his face while we talk, because I can’t figure out what it is that makes him so funny looking. And I can’t ask him. “You look normal, but not. Are you on drugs? Did you like, smoosh an eye socket as a baby? Anything?” So I wonder as we chat. Brain also has a really bad habit of calling me Jessica. I don’t even correct him. I didn’t know why he does it. I don’t know why he thinks this is my name. I look NOTHING like a Jessica. So I let him call me this odd name as by now, I’m sure that it’s because he’s a ruh-tard and cannot help it. My name is not forgettable or common, and it’s written on my fucking name plate thingie.

Today, as he left for the day, Brian stopped by to chat again. As he was leaving he gave me his usual sendoff, by walking away, turning the corner, and giving me one last “Bye Jessica, have a nice weekend!” wave/smile combo. But today, the wrong nameage was not okay with me. So not OK, that I had to correct him. Not wanting to embarrass my work friend who I’ll never see again after today as my new office area is in the back southwest corner of the building, in case you want to find me or something, I playfully made a joke and went on with my day…” Ew, don’t EVER call me ‘Jessie’ again. It’s Jessica! I’m not 7 anymore!” Sometimes, I don’t understand my logic either. Oh well. Back to slaying dragons.

Jessica Wisdom