Revenge

So there's this woman in my office who burps. A LOT. And farts. And blows her nose and sticks her fingers up her nose to finish cleaning while talking to people face to face.

A couple of months ago she was leaning over the back of my chair (and I may have blogged about this) and she blew out this stinky coffee chip burp that seared the side of my face as it went by. YUCK. And the stench of it lingered.

Last week, she did it again to me—leaned over the back of my chair watching while I searched for a file she was sure was there. She didn't even say excuse me. I should have stood up and left, instead I just kind of gasped for air for a bit and then held my breath, waiting for her to leave.

She went back to her desk to find the file, and while she was gone, I could feel a little something of my own building up. So I began my hasty exit to the bathroom… but then stopped.

Payback time.

I wandered carefully into her office, my little surprise building… stood next to her desk and asked if she had found it yet. She hadn't.

I watched her search for a few moments as my silent revenge slipped out, hovered a few more minutes to make sure it wasn't a dud, then retreated, victorious.