bigtips

How do I free myself of a workplace motor-mouth?

by M.T. "the Big Tipper" Martone

The roses in my back yard are beautiful, but I've had it. I inherited them, so who knows what vestigial grudges or scars they're harboring against humankind: All I know is they will not let a day pass without tasting my blood.

I've done it all for them. I've dug the grass out from around their canes so they can breathe, and given then a little manure, and I've even sung them "The Rose." (Well, only the first verse, because the end says they grow from a seed, which is stupid.)

I've admired them, and even complimented them to other people in front of them. Still, what do I get? The second I try to insinuate an arm between them, I look like the Girl From Planet Angry Cat.

It's impossible to weed behind them, or even carry away their clippings. I'm a hostage to their every rambling whim, but I can't fight their cool sweetness.

Roses: One..

Mary: Scratch.

Dear M.T.,

I'm someone who's lucky enough to enjoy a “cubicle-based work-style.” Now that's bad enough, since I am the most distractible guy in the world, and sometimes I'd like a little privacy during my personal phone calls, thank you very much, but mostly it's awful these days because I just don't have a door, and I feel like a sitting duck.

There's one person in particular who waits for me to come back to my desk, then starts complaining about everything and everyone, and I can't get him to shut up or leave. I'm busy, not interested, and even a little afraid that other people will think I invite this kind of workday chit-chat. Well, I do, like we all do, but in reasonable amounts, at appropriate times, and with people who are not talking my ear off about the same stupid memos from the same stupid people. Whatever!

This guy is killing me. How do I scrape this barnacle off my hull?

Dear Three Wallin',

Encrusted

Here's what I know about parasites, aquatic or other: One: they're annoying, so no one really listens to them. Two: they're all about the sound of their own voice, and the contrived intimacy generated by workplace dramas. Three: they're already being disrespectful, invasive and rude, so it's almost impossible to overstep what's civilly allowable to rid yourself of their presence. Dislodging may be undertaken by just about any means necessary, short of plastic explosives (which could damage your work station).

You've got a few choices. If you care about this person at all, you have the option of listening to the problem the first time in the day that it's presented. Then you say, "So what do you think would change this situation? What can you do?" In a beautiful, unicorn-studded world, Barney would think, come up with a few plans, then go off to attend to the business of taking charge of his life.

Say that doesn't happen (like I didn't get a sea lion for my tenth birthday, even though I really wanted one): Just disengage. You have a phone. Use it. While you maintain eye contact with him, pick up the phone. Keep nodding and dial the phone. Then put the phone up to your ear, and say, "Sorry, I have a really important call I have to make right now."

99

Then as you start to talk to your phoned party (real or imagined), break eye contact, and become instantly engrossed in “the call." Do not stop transacting "business" with "the caller" until Barney gives up and leaves.

This smooth switch of attention can be practiced at home, like a card trick, until it appears to be completely natural. You can also be direct with him, and tell him that you don't have the time to talk about problems he's not interested in working on. Then he'll think you're a jerk, and start talking about you to other people. But then at least he won't be talking to you.

Dear Big Tipper,

My boyfriend insists on running up the down escalator whenever we're in a store and there's no one else on it. I find this embarrassing, but he just laughs at me and tells me to lighten up. Isn't this against most stores' rules?

Dear Going Down,

What's Up?

Well, he must be in pretty good shape, if he can get the whole way up the escalator. If not, and even if, he may trip and get sucked into the slot at the end of the stairs. Which would be a sad but just end to the hi-jinks.

Who cares? If it's torturing you, do your inter-floor travel separately.

Dear Big Tipper,

I'm dating a woman whose family moved here from Brazil. She speaks English very well. We met at school here. Her parents don't speak any English and I don't know any Portuguese, and she says they want me to come to their house and have dinner with them and meet them. I feel nervous because I won't know what they're saying, and won't be able to talk to them. What should I do?

Dear Communication Gap,

Say What?

Her parents want to meet you? You go put on a nice clean outfit, buy some nice flowers to bring, and go sit in the car until your girlfriend's ready to drive you there.

Let her know about your nervousness, and I'm sure your sweetie won't leave you high and dry. She'll let you know what going on, and tell her parents what you're saying.

Have her teach you how to say "please," "thank you," and "This is delicious. You're a wonderful cook!" in Portuguese, and you'll be golden, at least for the first visit.

Burning questions? Contact me at the Chronicle, attention Big Tips, P.O. Box 5426, Cleveland 44101, or fax to 216-631-1052, or e-mail to martone@drizzle.com.

June 18, 1999 GAY PEOPLE'S CHRONICLE

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