Yentl Time

Once a month, Yentl comes into the office for a couple of days from the Midwest Office of Unnamed Co. (No, it's not in St. Louis, and those of you in the greater St. Louis area should be very grateful.)

Before she even gets on the plane, she starts phoning me, telling me exactly where she is and what she's doing (like I care?), while also conversing with the gate agent and the trio of people she has no doubt mown down with her luggage.

When she lands, she starts calling me again. "I'm in Newark." Um, great. "I'm in Springfield." Ohhkayyy... "I'm in Westfield." No one cares, Yentl. Just get here when you get here.

And in a gesture of noblesse oblige, brings me a lukewarm Starbucks mocha that is rapidly turning into sludge. Honestly, I really would rather have nothing.

She arrives with three different gigantic tote bags hanging off her. I have no doubt that she carried them all on, stuffing them into any and all overhead bins. Because she's special. Because she's Yentl.

I can hear her halfway down the building.

The people who sit in the little cube cluster where I live all snicker the minute they hear her voice. One has actually been known to make plans to be out of the office if she knows Yentl is coming.

Boy Wonder despises Yentl and will do anything to wind her up, which is a very easy thing to do. She is ultra sensitive to anything that smacks of discrimination or even the merest slight because she is: a) a woman, b) Jewish, c) Yentl.

The incessant chatter is loud, frantic, and pervasive.

With The Science Project at a fever pitch at the moment, I'm not sure I can take a lot more of this.

I think I'm going to come down with a migraine on Wednesday. I can see the warning auras already.