GOODBYE SHARON, YOU BITCH

One thing I won't miss about my corporate hack job is one particular co-worker. We'll call her, for the sake of anonymity, "Sharon."

Sharon is overly perky. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was on a mixture of cocaine and Red Bull. She often leads the cheers on Friday morning, trying to rev up all of us corporate brain-dead schmucks who are required to gather and sing praises about our company while wearing blue. It's like a Smurf convention, only scarier.

Sharon is so over the top about things like company spirit and all that other touchy-feely crap, she is almost manic. She laughs so loud that glass shatters, and will laugh at ANYTHING. But it isn't a genuine laugh. It is more like a nervous, I'm-about-to-get-a-high-powered-rifle-and-camp-out-on-the-roof-of-the-building kinda laugh. Sometimes, when I hear her cackling, I have this urge to hide under my desk.

So, as you an see, Sharon is my nemesis. I do not tend to giggle, cheer, or embrace touchy-feely crap. At 8 o'clock in the fucking morning, I don't want to embrace the day. I want to embrace a triple latte and a chocolate dough-nut, thank you very much.

But at 8 a.m., and every other time of the day, Sharon is "on," ready to jump up and down and hoot and holler and generally be obnoxious. I have found myself sneaking past her office on the way to my cubicle, doing everything I can to avoid her. Because if Sharon sees you ... if she has you in her sites ... you are fair game for a motivational speech.

I knew that Sharon and I were not going to see eye to eye when, after I had worked just one week as the company communications person, she announced in a staff meeting that she thought *I* should write the next cheer, since I was a professional writer. Before she could finish her thought I screamed out "HELL NO!" and proceeded to talk about my salary demands if I was required to do such useless, mindless shit.

Things got worse when Sharon started coming into my office every morning to ask me why I was depressed. She didn't seem to grasp that just because I wasn't skipping around singing Disney songs didn't mean I was depressed. I'm the type who comes to work, sits in her office, actually works, takes a two hour lunch, works some more, and leaves. Generally, I don't like enough people to be considered "chatty." It's just who I am.

Then she started asking me if everything was alright at home. I told her it was, and she'd be the last person I'd tell if it wasn't. At company functions, she would come up and warn me not to drink too much, and I told her that the very sight of her made me want to guzzle a 1/2 gallon of tequila. The bitch didn't seem to get it.

But she's not just annoying to me. Everyone in my office cringes when Sharon appears. She is no ones boss, yet treats anyone who was hired after her like they are scum on her shoe. She orders people around, calls responsible women "girlie" in an effort to demean them, and is obviously threatened by women who are younger or prettier than she is. She thinks if she's mean, but in a perky and cheerful way, it will keep people from thinking she's a bitch. She's wrong.

It's not that Sharon is an anomaly either. Every office has a Sharon, or a Ron, who never looks in your eyes but only directly at your tits. Or a Dan, who thinks picking his nose and farting is hilarious and should be shared with his coworkers. Or a Brenda, the office slut.

Since soon I'll be going back to my old paper, I already know there's a Ron and a Dan in the newsroom waiting for me. Still, I'll actually be glad to see them if it means I get to get rid of Sharon. At least I won't have to deal with her perkiness first thing in the morning. And the life I save by leaving could be her own.