It gets hot in the hallway. Once again, the weather outside is warming up, so yesterday morning, I noticed that the ceiling fans were shut off. I turned them on. Now, I thought about asking the other people whether they were OK with me turning them on. But every single one of them (and there were four people who work under the fans and so would feel them when I turn them on) were focused on their work and had headphones on. I took that as a sign to not bother them. So I went to the end of the hallway and flipped the switch that turned on both ceiling fans.
Do you remember me talking about Miss I Did Lotsa Folders? She was at the scanner yesterday morning, and while I was looking in her direction, she flipped off the switch that turned off both ceiling fans. Fuck. Me.
Again, I will take responsibility because I did not ask her if it's OK for me to turn them on. Also, she was intent on doing her job, and I did my best to slink around her to get to the switch, so it was possible she didn't see me turn them on. Or ... maybe she did.
Anyway, I kind of got apoplectic. That Girl who fooled me into thinking she was smart only because she is quiet has a bitch of a passive-aggressive streak. Well, the only way to bust through that is direct confrontation ... which probably wasn't needed if I just asked her beforehand.
But I went up to her and asked her, "I'm sorry -- did you not want me to turn on the ceiling fans?" To which she replied, "Ope! No, that's OK!" and she turned them on herself.
Now, I will allow the possibility that I'm making a mountain out of a molehill. And I have to go back to confessing once again that I probably started all this. But let's be real here: She wouldn't have turned off the ceiling fans if she didn't want them off. So why did she turn them back on? For me? If she didn't want them on, she could have just told me. So, yes, her just turning them back on and essentially saying, "Oh, excuuuuuuuuse me!" is a very passive-aggressive way of telling me she hated what I did -- and that she may not like me, period.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it. For now.
I could've gotten the fuck away from That Girl by taking second shift for seven straight days. But no, I had plans and I have training. (Oh, by the way, my co-worker really does have a valid reason for asking for all those days off a mere week in advance: A family member died. Totally understandable. My misperception.)
I'm out in The Main Department until next week. I don't know if I can last that long being around That Girl.
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