Sooner or later these people are going to realize that my kitchen is NOT Dr. Phil’s couch.
I was in the dining room, taking care of guests when I noticed someone’s bare feet in the kitchen. I couldn’t see who the bare feet belonged to since the swinging doors obscured the body. Once I got in the kitchen, I saw Eeyore, teary eyed, boozed up, barefoot and in her pajamas.
Just another night that ends in ‘Y’.
I asked, “Why are you barefoot and in your pajamas in the kitchen?”
She asked, “Is Bagheera here?”
“No, she went home.”
That should have been the end of it, but it never is.
She started to tell me why she was a hot mess and I held up my hands. “If this is a problem to do with the business and I can help fix it, lay it on me. If this is personal drama, keep it to yourself.”
She said her disarray had nothing to do with work. I again said, “I don’t want to hear it.”
“But I want to tell you.”
“NO! It isn’t any of my business and I don’t WANT it to be any of my business.”
“But I need to talk to someone.”
“Go talk to Bagheera.”
“I don’t have a cell phone.”
“Use the kitchen phone or walk yourself across the street and talk to Bagheera, but leave me out of it.” I opened the swinging doors to the dining room and Eeyore tried to follow me.
Then I had to put my finger in her face. “Do NOT pursue me. I don’t want to hear your problems. If you don’t get out of my kitchen, I’m going to start telling you things, and I can guarantee you won’t like me when I’m done.”
I took the order on the table and when I went back to the kitchen, she was gone.
Why do people insist on airing their dirty laundry? Do they not have any sense of pride or an ounce of self respect? I know she and Doc were fighting and she needed someone to take her side and tell her she is right and he is wrong. If I wanted to listen to two people fight, I’d still be married.
I work hard on having a peaceful life. It’s all daffodils and puppies in my fantasy world and I’ll be damned if these boozy people are going to turn it into poison ivy and hell hounds. I don’t care about their problems. I don’t want to be part of their drama. I don’t get paid enough to listen to their bullshit (which even if I did I still wouldn’t).
I figure if I tell enough of them to fuck off, they will get the hint and find someone who gives a rat’s ass. If they don’t, I’ll go to Plan B. Nobody likes Plan B.