January 16th, 2012
Rants from the Rat-Race: The Parking Lot Studio
“Quite the little song bird this morning, weren’t we?”
“In your car, on the way into the parking lot. I saw you singing in your car. You were really belting it out, weren’t you?”
Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap. I spend the majority of my days at the office painted with a calm and slightly chilly demeanor in an attempt to dissuade any of the office old farts from pointing out my relatively young (and short) status. It’s all about sending out the “don’t f*** with me” vibe, the “I’m still your superior, even if I am the same age as your son” vibe. And now, all that concerted effort to portray a bad-ass is about to be laid to waste because the office loudmouth spotted me in one of my moments of American Idol Abandon.
I quickly cover, shrugging and saying something vague like “Oh, yeah. I guess so” while I’m trying to remember exactly what I had been howling on the way in. The Pixies? A little Panic at the Disco? Please, dear God, don’t tell me it was Whitney?
“Oh, look at you, you’re blushing.”
Yup, I tend to do that when a beast with no boundaries or respect for human embarrassment calls me out for flailing in wild karaoke wantonness in the privacy of my own car. Maybe she’ll just let it go. Maybe she won’t feel the need to demoralize me any further. Maybe I can still salvage my carefully constructed faux-bitchiness…
Maybe I’ll take that job in Seattle.