If you work with a woman from the islands, they're "tings."
Miss Tings had a conversation this afternoon with another coworker that was so loud, sing-song-y and boisterous, my ears bled onto my toes, which had previously been innocently peeping out of my peep toe shoes. The tings Miss tings was talking about had something to do with papers, a binder with blue and white sheets, and how to put it together and what cabinet it's in. The person on the other end of the conversation was Chinese. I'll call her Goo Goo (Aunt in Chinese). Listening to Goo Goo requires extraordinary concentration; it took me a good fifteen minutes once to realize that basketty stracks means spaghetti straps. Anyway, once Goo Goo chimed in about the binder and the tings, my head exploded. I think it took about three minutes for it to happen, but one minute I was there with a head, and then suddenly there was a figure resembling me, standing in my cube, headless, amongst bits of head, splattered all around. Then they stopped talking.
I love New York. Keeps you headless and on your bloody peep toes.
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