On Inventing My Own Fun

So yeah, my former boss, you remember HIM, don't you? The guy who left here under the darkness of night, emptying out his office, without so much as an email to support staff to: 1. Thank us for seven years of service; and 2. Let us know how to handle in-coming calls and mail. Yeah... HIM.

Come Memorial Day weekend, he'll be gone an entire year. Where did the time go? I don't wish him ill, I don't wish him well, I'm just glad to no longer be working with him any longer, for an assortment of reasons.

Last time I laid eyes on him was sometime in the summer at his mom's wake; and last time I heard from him was in November, the day of his official farewell party (granted 7 months after his departure from this office). YES, the party I was excluded from attending. Not that I would have gone, as it was in the Bronx on a week night, so naturally I would have declined. But I still say I should have been invited. But my lack of invitation truly spoke volumes to me about my standing in his eyes as well as the eyes of his nearest-and-dearest who handled the party arrangements.

So be that as it may, one of the guys in my agency, who works at the same location where former-bossman, aka TommyBoy, works now, approached me just now, telling me how TommyBoy had inquired about how I was doing, as if this particular guy sees me all the time? He sees me once in a very blue moon, at best. Furthermore, this guy lets me know that TommyBoy let him know I had some procedure done regarding weight loss. Not that it's TommyBoy's business to be sharing personal deets of mine like that. But therein lies the presumptuousness that TommyBoy has always had.

So I tell this guy to tell TommyBoy, "Oh yeah, she must have gained it all back. Are you sure she had some surgery? She looks the same to me as she always has." Because, let's be honest, if TommyBoy gave a shit about me or gave a shit about discretion, he'd either pick up the phone and call or zap me an email to find out for himself. So he devises this structure, this whatever-it-is to simulate communication with me, or appear as if he's even remotely interested in me as a human, not to mention interested in me as a former underling-and-confidante, when it's all just utter bullshit.

I wonder how he'd feel if I told folks about his bloody piss dribblin's in the handicapped bathroom, and how I was able to deduce some sort of bladder or prostate issue long before he shared those details with me personally.

Or perhaps this is TommyBoy's way of goading an interaction with me, by subconsciously goading me to email him to find out how he's doing. Goad away, piss boy. I'm not takin' the bait.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a hellacious pimple in my eyebrow that needs to be coaxed the fuck out of my skin.