There’s nothing like working with someone closely to impose a illusion of intimacy into your relationship.
I know many, and know of many more, who spend so much time at work, and so much time with coworkers after work, that life and work become inextricably twined. I have never been one of those people. I am not one to “hang out” with my coworkers, or to “hang out” at work when I’m not on the clock. Work life is work life, and personal life is personal life.
But that doesn’t mean that I don’t find myself in all sorts of intriguing working relationships.
Take T.S. We’re strikingly similar–and completely different. Both in our early twenties and working full-time at HSS. Both our father’s are “higher-ups” in the Housing chain of command. Except I’m a college graduate and he still hasn’t figured out what he’s majoring in. I’m assistant to the assistant managers–and he’s been recently demoted back to the dishroom. “I saw your dad today,” he tells me. “Did you see mine?”
J.H. is serious, responsible, and occasionally silly. “Hi, Rebekah” he says, for the fifteenth time today. We share a burrito and comment back and forth over the counter on what might be done to improve it. “A little more cilantro, a bit of lime, maybe some real chiles.” “But it’s not bad, really.” “It has potential. It just needs tweaking.”
J.B., a couple of months my junior, has taken to calling me “Young lady”–when he’s not calling me “Captain.” As in, “Thank you, young lady.” “You’ve made a mess, young lady.” “Yes, Captain.” Our first semester working together, we mock-fought continually, often calling upon our customers to resolve disputes. “Don’t you think this turkey looks anemic? –Yeah, that’s what I thought too!” Now he’s student manager every other weekend, letting me relax and catch up on paperwork. We confer anxiously over our lack of change, discuss theology and whether his girlfriend is justified in intending to break up with him, and waltz in the serving area after hours.
I knew A.S. for about a week before I asked him to marry me. Thankfully, he said no. Actually, I made his saying no a pre-requisite to asking him to marry me. Which he claims broke his heart. He’s been “wooing” me ever since, until I finally gave in to the offer of a greasy spatula. Our “relationship” is forever on the rocks since he does silly things like calling me (a TOTALLY liberated woman) “his woman” and since his girlfriend is definitely not fond of me. “Why don’t you ask REBEKAH? After all, you are engaged.” *Inject venom here.*
T.N. feels like a little brother, and I have to catch myself before scolding him like a big sister. “What are you doing wearing short pants like that on a day like this? You’re going to catch your death of cold.” He shares the trials of the PSAT, and I commiserate with my own stories from last year’s GRE. “So have you thought about what colleges you’re going to apply to?”
The student custodians came up from the facilities offices this morning to get something to drink. First a group of boys, then a group of girls. Jeff commented on the strangeness of it. “I mean, at OUR age?” I couldn’t help but agree. But then again, maybe my working relationships are a bit strange too.
