I mentioned him a little bit in my Instant Messaging blog.
Today, we’re going to get to know the sick bastard a little better.
We all know someone that has the following personality traits:
1) Cannot make eye contact when you talk to them
2) Dress like they bought their entire wardrobe at a flea market
3) Socially retarded
Barry would come to work looking like he was in a shipwreck, circa 1989, and was washed ashore an uncharted island with only the book, “How to Annoy People and Act like a Know-it-all F*ckSh*t” to keep him company.
He would come to work in his open-toe sandals, wearing black socks, beige shorts, and a Jurassic Park t-shirt (look out, ladies!)
He could not talk without stuttering…and when he disagreed with you (which he did a lot, because he was ALWAYS right), his stuttering would raise to a high-pitched whine and he would start drooling spittle.
He could not talk without looking at every part of the room EXCEPT who he was talking to.
He told us he was in a spinning class. Some of the guys that worked with him previously told us that, yes, he wears spandex to the gym.
He was way overweight. I’m not sure the spinning was working…unless he was actually spinning a salad…
…and instead of salad in the spinner, it was pork.
On most days, you could actually tell what was for lunch, simply by looking at his shirt. It never, EVER, failed that he got some type of food on himself. Even if he only had water.
True story: He once walked down to our company cafeteria, with soup all over himself. He told the cafeteria manager that he needed to use sturdier soup cups.
Cafeteria Manager (looking at Barry's mess): "Oh, man. I'm sorry. Did the cup break why you were holding it?"
Barry: "No, why?"
Cafe Mgr: "Well...um...you're all covered with soup."
Barry: "Oh - that's not from the cup. That's from when it spilled over as I was drinking it from the tray."
FROM THE TRAY.
So, the guy needed sturdier soup cups, to stop the soup from spilling on the tray, where Barry would then drink it.
(It's okay, at this point, to have your mouth gaping open).
I couldn’t stand talking to him. It was so bad, that I actually felt guilty making fun of him…sometimes.
I still did it…but I felt a little bad.
Okay..not really. I made that up.
I can only surmise that Barry was raised by woodland gnomes with little idea of what people in the world were actually expected of in public.
Case in point:
We had a meeting with one of our Vice Presidents of the company. We had a HUGE conference room, and a table that sat approximately 25 people. I got to the meeting late, which was already in progress.
Barry was seated right next to the VP, who was going on and on as VP’s tend to do…
Across the table from the VP, were two of my friends, John and Janet. Because I was late, I sat against the wall beside John and Janet.
About halfway through the meeting…I saw them…
John and Janet…whispering…
Janet’s face was red…she was stifling hysteria.
John was almost crying laughing…trying to keep quiet while the VP continued his talking…
I’m thinking, “What the Hell is so funny…?”
Then I see it.
Across the table from John and Janet, and right next to the VP, Barry is doing…something…
…he’s chewing on the palm of his hand.
He’s chewing on the palm of his hand.
What is he chewing on…???
Janet sees me looking at her. I have a “..what the..?” look on my face…she shrugs her shoulders…whatever Barry is doing, she has no idea either.
But there he is in all his giant, disgusting glory...
…Barry is chewing incessantly and wildly on the palm of his hand…like it’s his lot in life to get whatever is on there OFF RIGHT NOW.
His palm is smashed flush to his face, and he’s chomping away on it.
…then he pulls his hand away…
..he reaches down into his palm and plucks something out of it…
..then pops it into his mouth.
WHAT THE F*CK?!?
WHAT did he just do?!?
The three of us continue to watch…together yet separated…in silent horror…as Barry continues doing this.
Chew on palm…pick something out…pop it in….chew on palm…pick something….
I have no idea what the meeting was about...what was said...or if it was actually important. For all I know, they could have told all the guys they were getting circumcised as new corporate policy and I would have had no idea. I was fascinated by the freak show happening across the room.
Twenty minutes later…the meeting is over. We’re all exiting the room together…VP in tow…when I look at Barry and say:
“Barry…seriously. What the Hell were you eating in there?”
He looks at us, nonchalantly and says...
(I swear this is true):
…I feel dizzy.
Did he just say….he was eating his callouses?
Four of us…altogether:
..he steps into the elevator alone (we're dumfounded..and decide to take the stairs)…
..as the elevator doors are closing, I say:
“Barry...WHY would you eat your goddamn callouses?”
He turns around as he steps into the elevator, looks at me, and calmly says:
“Well...It’s just like your fingernails.”
…and the doors close.
They’re just like your fingernails.
Wait…did he just say, “It’s just like your fingernails?”
Trying to fathom this, we go up the stairs in time for the elevator doors to slide open. Barry walks out….
Me: “Barry…just so I’m clear…did you just say that you also eat your fingernails?”
Barry (unphased): “What else are you supposed to do with them?”
Four of us…altogether:
“THROW THEM AWAY!”
Every time I think of this, I throw up a little in my mouth.
And to this day, I can’t believe I had that conversation…with a grown man.
..with a grown gnome.
Friday, November 09, 2007