When Sophie walked into the office this morning, I saw right away that her tag was sticking out the back of her knockoff Guess sundress. I thought, “Wow, someone should really tell her.” Then I returned to eating my breakfast wrap.
Four hours later, I realized I had never used the bathroom that’s located on the far side of the office—the one near Sophie’s desk—which would be a good excuse to scope out how the tag situation was progressing. I brushed the crumbs from my lunch wrap off my lap and walked over to the bathroom. Sure enough, Sophie’s tag was still sticking out, like the kid with red hair in a class picture. After I confirmed the tag’s position and stood in the bathroom for a while, I returned to my desk.
Someone needs to man up and tell her, because not only is her visible tag inappropriate for the workplace, it’s embarrassing for her. Now, I’m by no means close with Sophie, but I would never wish embarrassment upon her. I’m not perfect, but I care about people.
Why won’t someone just tell her already?! By this point, Sophie’s tag is the only thing I see. It taunts me, a bright speck of white in my field of vision. I can’t file my paperwork, fill out my quota report, or even pay last month’s rent because all I can think about is Sophie’s tag and how much mental anguish she would be in if she knew. I mean, she’s pissing off the entire office, and she doesn’t even know it. God dammit, what is everyone’s problem? Apparently, my colleagues are all complete animals.
Okay. I’m going to say something. I have to. I’m going to be the bigger person here, and I’m going to make this right.
As soon as I finish my dinner wrap, I’m going to march right over to Kyle’s desk and demand that he tells Sophie her tag is sticking out, unless someone else does it first. Someone? Anyone?
