The Freaklet

There's just something about that girl that creeps me out. In my soul, I mean. Ever read Steven King? Every time I look at her, my eyes just unfocus and glide right past her. Every time I have to look at her, a immediately think of the things that came out of the car in From a Buick 8.

Honestly.

She just ain't right.

She has been told, repeatedly to STOP going through the garbage cans. (Between her and the stubborn ass who had strep throat, they infected at least 3 other people) She collects the pop cans, I don't want to know why.

When she calls me to get the cooler count, it takes fully 5 minutes for her to tell me what she wants. I usually just talk over her.

Every evening at closing time, she goes back to the breakroom, and counts the holes in her work vest. It's killing me not to scream, "It has exactly the same number of fucking holes today as it did yesterday! Put it the fuck in your locker and move your ass to the front so we can all go the fuck home."

I don't though. That would be horribly rude and uncalled for. She's not really hurting me by counting the holes in her vest. It's just weird as fuck, and as long as weird as fuck isn't touching me, it's not my problem.

She also, after the daily accounting, moves each pen and piece of paper from her vest pockets to her purse. I'm not sure what else she has in her purse, but it's painful to watch her try to cram those few items, one at a time (and no, they can't be removed from said vest pocket until time to cram them into the purse,) into that small overfilled purse.

Today, in the breakroom, she decided to go into a long, involved tale about the spider. The spider is apparently her new friend at work. She says it is as big as her hand. She says that it deserves to live, and she is actively warning people to watch out to not kill it.

She is also very disturbed by the rumor going around about her: they're saying she's quitting.

We can dream, can't we? (and no, I did not start the rumor. I don't do rumors.)