I was crammed in a small, glass office for the weekly round-up with four other consultants. The head project manager was a newbie. A decent-looking dude, well-dressed, easy on my eyes, but a little on the “heftier” side of the scale.
Each of my counterparts took turns briefly reviewing the prior week’s tasks and results. In between each report, the newbie belched loudly, filling the room with what smelled like roasted garlic. Neither time did he acknowledge or “excuse” his burps. Newbie cleared his throat and moved on with the meeting as if belching was part of the English language.
When it was my turn to speak, Newbie, now nicknamed “butthole” in my mind, looked at me and said, “Well?” There was a brief moment of silence before he sneezed so violently that I thought he popped a blood vessel. I felt the light spray of wetness hit my skin. This Mother F— didn’t bother to cover his nose?! What the *-^%$&!?
Disgusted, I stood up wiping my arm against the side of my dress. Manner-less snorted up some snot and looked at me again and said, “Well, what you got?” Then, he proceeds to cough really hard, followed by a loud, fart bomb!
Immediately, the room reeked of rotten eggs. Unbelievable!
I was the first person, the lone wolf, to yank the door open and exit the meeting room. Done with the belching, sneezing, coughing and farting, and any other ill-mannered shenanigans for the day.
Then, I woke up.
Monique Gilmore Scott
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