I love trash

I was surprised to get an IM a few weeks ago from a friend and co-worker asking me
if I was OK.

I told her yes, someone else came in so my department was no longer short-handed. She said good and I asked if I had been rude or something when I was working alone.

Not rude, she replied, but maybe like Oscar. My first thought was why is she comparing me to the fat guy who does crossword puzzles on The Office. But that isn't even right; Oscar is the gay Hispanic guy, which still makes no sense. Then she clarified: Oscar the Grouch, a mini-Oscar, she said.

It was true -- we were short-staffed that day and I was a little ill-mannered. But hardly anyone mocks me at work.

I mean every single relative does, especially younger ones who ought to respect me.

Mom, too. I just this minute got back to my seat on the couch after going to the bathroom. I had some trouble getting in, though. I grabbed the door handle, but it slid through my hands and I fell forward. My head hit the wall so I did not tumble right out of the chair -- I had time to brace myself by putting a hand on the floor. I called Mom for help because my hand was holding me from dropping and could not pull me up. She walked out: "Can I give you a hand?" After I was up, she mocked me for going for a ride without my seatbelt.

It made work feel downright homey (and no, I do not want all my co-workers to start making fun of me).