Gotti stopped by the bench today to have a few words with me. I've been benched for a week now, and Gotti thought it a good opportunity to finally catch me during the free time.
We discussed potential assignments that I've been approached about and talked about how to utilize my time on the bench. As Gotti and I were making plans to convene again at a later time and date, Gotti's face scrunched up, mouth open, as he stared past me.
"Dude," he uttered, "What the fuck is up with your chick?"
I turned back to my desk. I had turned away from my workstation with Instant Messaging still open. This chick had been lighting up my screen with messages and Gotti noticed them over my shoulders.
"I think you're a good guy," she had written to me, continuing an unmemorable conversation we were having before Gotti approached me, "What do you think about me? Do you think I'm just some troubled, drama queen, psycho bitch? What do you say to other people about me?"
Then, it got weirder.
"What do you think about me? I think I love you."
She said the L word.
Then, she started spazzing out because I wasn't replying. "Luck? Luck! What do you think about me? Be honest! It's okay if you don't love me as much as I love you!"
Gotti and I stared, dumbfoundedly, at the barrage of messages.
"I was busy," I finally typed back to her, "I am at work."
"Okay," she replied, "So..."
"I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt," I sent to her, "And assume that you really thought this through before saying all this stuff to me. But whatever you had planned -- all of this probably played out a lot better in your head than what's going to actually take place. And let's just leave it at that. Because this conversation just cannot end well for you."
I tapped Ctrl+Alt+Del to lock the computer and slapped the notebook screen closed. Turned my attention back to Gotti, "Sorry about that. Where were we?"
"Dude," he gasped, "You are fucking ice cold."
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