An Open Letter To The Woman In The Computer Lab Who Is Not So Discreetly Trying To Set Me Up With Her Son
(I admit it, I cherish McSweeney Open Letters like a bedouin savours dates.)
Dear Woman,
I should know your name. I know I should. And you are so kind. You smile so widely, so innocently, and yet, now when you approach me, I type with vigor to avoid you.
At the start, I enjoyed your interruptions. There I would be, savoring my brief moments of internet time at the office in the computer lab where you would find me and stuff individually wrapped Halls throat lozenges into my hand. You meant well, and so I allowed myself to be charmed. But then you started to linger over my shoulder after our cordial exchange of greetings had reached their end. It went on like this for some time, and I muttered not a word of complaint of your side idling until you introduced your son into your routine.
I admit, I didn't have patience for him from our first meeting. There he was, brought to me on the pretense of wanting to study law in Canada. You smiled your sweet-come-cunning smile and I wondered how long you had had this up your sleeve. It is painfully obvious that he knows nothing of Canada, or its education system when he was unable to name a single school. I don't know what bothers me more: that you had your son feign interest in Canadian law school, or that he would be interested in studying in Canada and be so blythly unaware of what such an endeavour would entail.
Today, when you came to me, as you do, with such exuberance, I knew what you were about. You mentioned your son, and I yearned to turn away from you and look to my keyboard. As you spoke of him, I wanted nothing more than to to turn my back on you. And then you made your final mistake: you asked me for web addresses of schools. While I want to give a man a break and lend a hand where I can, a man is not a man if he cannot google.
My internet time is precious.
You offend me as much as the bus driver who drove his bus toward me at top speed and shook his hands in the air- away from the steering wheel- just to show me how close I was to my own mortality. Those are the feelings that hovering can produce when combined with undesired setups.
Dear Woman,
I should know your name. I know I should. And you are so kind. You smile so widely, so innocently, and yet, now when you approach me, I type with vigor to avoid you.
At the start, I enjoyed your interruptions. There I would be, savoring my brief moments of internet time at the office in the computer lab where you would find me and stuff individually wrapped Halls throat lozenges into my hand. You meant well, and so I allowed myself to be charmed. But then you started to linger over my shoulder after our cordial exchange of greetings had reached their end. It went on like this for some time, and I muttered not a word of complaint of your side idling until you introduced your son into your routine.
I admit, I didn't have patience for him from our first meeting. There he was, brought to me on the pretense of wanting to study law in Canada. You smiled your sweet-come-cunning smile and I wondered how long you had had this up your sleeve. It is painfully obvious that he knows nothing of Canada, or its education system when he was unable to name a single school. I don't know what bothers me more: that you had your son feign interest in Canadian law school, or that he would be interested in studying in Canada and be so blythly unaware of what such an endeavour would entail.
Today, when you came to me, as you do, with such exuberance, I knew what you were about. You mentioned your son, and I yearned to turn away from you and look to my keyboard. As you spoke of him, I wanted nothing more than to to turn my back on you. And then you made your final mistake: you asked me for web addresses of schools. While I want to give a man a break and lend a hand where I can, a man is not a man if he cannot google.
My internet time is precious.
You offend me as much as the bus driver who drove his bus toward me at top speed and shook his hands in the air- away from the steering wheel- just to show me how close I was to my own mortality. Those are the feelings that hovering can produce when combined with undesired setups.
posted by Nermeen at 1:44 PM
3 Comments:
direct him to the University of Manitoba, and mention how lovely the weather is this time of year.
btw, the last comment was from ed!
OMG HILARIOUS!! I can't get enough hahahahahahahah
Oh how much i wish i was in egypt with you!
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