The Relationship Chronicles: My &^%*ing Office Mate (Part II)

This post is a continuation of a post about me and my beloved, and the joy of sharing an office.

While I struggle with design software, B-friend struggles with writing. He's actually a brilliant presenter and letter writer, but when he writes prose his work transforms into mucky verbosity. And yet, despite what we both know will inevitably happen from word one, he still asks me to review passages from his thesis, and I still say yes.

"'Developable?' that's not a word; put something else in here."

"It's jargon--you don't know it. Just move on."

"Bullshit--you made this word up."

"THEY know what I mean."

"Who's THEY? Other people with poor grasp of the English language?"

"Hey, all I wanted was an overview here, OK. An overall review, not a line edit."

He doesn't understand. I spent the first few years of my publishing career line editing text on weekends to make ends meet. I know the NY Times Stylebook backwards and forwards. I still hesitate before using the word "since" when I could use the word "because." And he wants to pull this jargoncrap with me?

I tell him: "But if I can't get through the first sentence, how can I give you an overview?"

"Just skip that line and move on."

"Whatever, fine (Reading the next line): 'This project envisions an urban prototype for the City, introducing a vibrant new pattern to the neighborhood...' Huh? A project can't envision anything. YOUR vision of the project can be an urban prototype for the City, but the project itself can't envision anything. Gotta fix that line. And prototype seems superfluous here..."

"It's jargon!"

"It's bullshit."

"Forget I asked." 

Another point of tension: The airport transport provision in our implied Co-habitation agreement. I would swear that it reads:

"In all events when a cohabitant requires a ride to the freakin' airport at such times when second co-habitant is not a) in class or b) in an unreasonable vicinity of cohabitants' home (i.e. "out of town," "hospitalized") or unable to perform chauffeur duties (paralysis or death), he/she is required to provide timely transportation to and from the airport, without complaint or guilt trip."

I asked b-friend for a ride to the airport today, and he said, "You're on your own, Babe."

Say wha?

I mentioned the Chauffeur Clause to my sister, who apparently thinks I've lost my mind.

"You expect him to drive you to and from the airport for the rest of your life?"

"Yes."

"Jesus, Jory. You've gone out of town how many times this month?"

"Four. So what?"

"Sheesh."

B-friend has started to call me Miss Daisy, and I don't know why. And I don't know why he can't just get off his ass and drive me to the airport tomorrow, when I embark on a long journey to the East Coast. He threw out some story about needing to pull an all-nighter tonight, hence he would prefer that I find my own means to the airport, or that he drive me to the subway and I (gasp!) take the train to the airport.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.   

He seems to think there's a clause in our implied co-habitation agreement that certain parts of our house will be clean at all times. If I'd seen that clause before we became co-habitating office mates I would have had it stricken, blacklined, blown up.

In an attempt to do my part around the house, I've offered to do dishes once every day--everything that's in the sink by day's end. I hasten to add, however, that I will not take time out of my work day to continually monitor the level of clutter in the house, like B-friend does. This has heightened the tension a bit. That, and the fact that he believes that calling out every infraction is a means of effecting change.

(B-friend, calling out from the kitchen) "Babe, is there a reason why you left the peanut butter out?"

Silence

"Babe."

Me annoyed, "May I finish this paragraph please?"

"Why didn't you put this back in the fridge?"

"I like my peanut butter warm."

"Why are there five drinking glasses on the coffee table?"

"I was thirsty."

(Sound of dishes being moved in the sink) "You put the frying pan in cold water after you used it again, didn't you?"

(silence)

"Remember what I said about that? It warps the pan...that's why these pans are warped."

"Really? I thought it was because they were cheap."

"Hun, there are still a ton of ants back here. I thought you were going to clean this up."

"I sprayed back there."

"Yeah, and now there are about 1,000 dead ants behind the couch ... Hun? HUN!"

"Yeah."

"Are you going to clean this up?"

"I said I would, right?"

"You said that days ago."

"Those ants aren't going anywhere."

"When, then? Later today?"

"April."

It's interesting, my work ethic. If it's related to my career/business/social life, it gets taken care of. But I've noticed I have limitless flexibility when it's related to my home. Clothes and dishes pile up, ants begin to petrify. But B-friend is much more apt to address those issues immediately. He calls it being responsible; I call it an insidious form of procrastination.

I've explained to him, of course I intend to clean, but a clean house isn't my number one priority. There are much more important things to attend to--like finishing blogs.

"Hey," I say, "You say potato; I say poTAHto. You say tomato..."

"I say zip it," B-friend says.

This forces me to try to talk over him, and him to say "la la la" in a tone even louder than his phone voice, and me to squeeze his head to get him to shut up, and him to laugh, and me to squeeze harder and punch him in the arm, and him to grab the arm trying to punch him again, and me to scream "Abuse! Call 911!" and him to take my other arm and hold my wrists together with his thumb and index finger, and me to try to writhe free and to swear that he's getting off easy this time; next time I'll have to kick his ass.

This has become our sex, and it does the requisite function of clearing the air.

Until the air needs clearing again.

B-friend sniffing. "Oh man, Jory, you just killed it."

(silence)

"Don't think you're fooling anybody, Jory. I can smell it."

"Smell what?"

"Cut it out. You know what I'm talking about."

"I thought we were an equal opportunity household. You once told me I should feel free to let loose."

"Yeah, but not if they smell this bad."

"What are you? Emissions testing? I seem to recall a few of yours that freed a few people backed up in there."

"WhatEVER! I just thought I'd WARN you, since you probably need to go change your underwear now..."

"You are so gross. Seriously, grow up."

"Me grow up? You need Pampers!"

Fortunately the phone usually rings and the regression ends there.

I realize that most relationships couldn't weather such hardship. And I would be lying if I said it wasn't wearing on me. We are both in the Take mode of the Give-and-Take function. We can't do our jobs of calming each other because we are tied up in each others' stress.

Today B-friend suggested that I move the files, Post-Its, note pads, and various items off my desk, so that I can work more efficiently. I looked at him in disbelief that he had so quickly forgotten we'd been down this road before.

"And put it WHERE! Under your clothes?"

"You know," he said. "This is temporary. We'll get through this. Just a few more weeks."

"And then what?" I said. "You'll put your clothes in the hamper?"

"I'll be done with school. And hopefully soon after that I'll have a job. And this," he said motioning to the North, East, South, and West walls of our cluttered office with the skilled flourish of a Showgirl on The Price is Right, "all this will be yours."

Comments

[Joy]

This is hysterical no matter how many times I read it. It's no fun growing up anyways. You and Jess are a trip.

[Jules]

Ha! Reading this post reminded me of when I was sharing an apartment with my South African boyfriend in London. Our big point of conflict: the phrase "just now", as in "sure, I'll do that just now".

I (and most people who speak English) would interpret that as "I am going to do that right now", when it actually meant "sure, I'll get to that at some point in the future. Maybe." It took me SIX MONTHS to work out that "just now" doesn't actually mean "now".

Ahhh... the joys of cohabitating!

[Jen]

Yep, I reckon you're right about getting driven to the airport. Miss Daisy indeed - humppphhhh

[Laura]

Jory you are making me reconsider working from home in the future. Because Chris will also be working from home, starting in 2 months! At least we both agree that housework is procrastination from real work so he doesn't bug me if I leave a pile of papers or clothes next to the bed, or dishes in the sink. My take is that if I'm going to procrastinate, I'm not going to waste it on housework - I'll do something more fun than that!

[JoeBro]

I agree with Jess, no more airport trips. However, I could be bargained with (cha-ching).

[Steve Fielding]

I am laughing so hard. This is a verbatim replay of weekly goings on in my household. G-friend, who as you know was recently promoted to "wife", has found a way to breed her piles of clutter, mostly paper beit magazines, junk mail, catalogs or what have you. Drives me crazy. And yes, foreplay as you mention has been reduce to a tussle over clean up or laundry duties.

Now Jesse, listen to Jory on the writing tips I think she has some skillz in that area mate. Jory - oakland airport is one thing; SFO on the other hand - better get a BART pass. ;-)

best,
steven

[Troy Worman]

As long as you have dialogue to write, you are in good shape.

I'm looking forward to the next chapter.

[Elisa Camahort]

Can't go with you on the airport thing. I never ask for a ride. Although I have to admit it's because my S.O. is such a loser about being on time that it would just add stress to both sides of my trip, i.e.

1. Pushing him to get ready intime to take me
and
2. Wondering if he'd actually pick me up on time.

[Jake]

Great stuff, too funny. But I stand by my own favorite made up work: templatization - the act of making something into a template.