“Oh, here’s some [Lawfirm] history for you, Erin,” Barb said yesterday out of the blue. “You remember that guy who shot all those women at the gym last summer—”
“YES!” I answered way too hungrily.
Barb looked at my crazy woman eyes for a few seconds before continuing. “Well, he used to work here.”
“I know!” I shouted, leaving out the part where I was that much more eager to get the job because of that. “In fact, when i was waiting to hear if I got the job, my friend jokingly said, ‘If they hired THAT guy, you should be a shoo-in’.”
Barb laughed. “Gee, what does THAT say about you?”
Yes, what indeed?
“Anyway, the reason I brought it up is because I just found a bunch of old emails from him. He was one of the ones who created [the program our department uses] and he was helping me last year when I had a problem,” Barb told me. “Gives me the creeps to see his name in my Outlook.” She shook her shoulders in a mock shiver.
I wanted so badly to ask her to forward one of them to me.
Prior to that, I was explaining the meaning behind my tattoo to Barb. One of the girls here overheard me say Chiodos, and not only has she heard of them, but she likes them too.
Is this what home feels like?? I mean, minus Henry’s dirty socks strewn around carelessly and Chooch’s screeching obscenities?