The View from a Drawbridge

I have this coworker who doesn’t like me. I don’t know why. I’ve tried to figure it out for years. I suppose I could come right out and ask, but what would be the point? It would just open me up to insults, and her mind is already made up. She is the type of person who doesn’t change her mind very easily. I’ve seen her get into an argument with someone and never speak to that person again. Ever. It must be exhausting, trying to keep track of who you’ll speak to in any given crowd. She does speak to me, but it’s safe to say we’ll never be besties. We’re polite to each other, but she’s not going to invite me over to her house for an “It’s a Wonderful Life” movie marathon or ask to borrow my sweater. This used to hurt my feelings, but then I realized that, well, frankly, I don’t particularly like her, either.

Now and then, when things are slow on the bridge and I need a giggle, I imagine ways to disarm her, such as giving her a really big hug. That would definitely freak her out, but I can also see it backfiring and me getting punched in the throat. It could go either way.

It’s a pity that we can’t seem to connect because I bet she has a fairly interesting history. She’s six months younger than I am, but she looks at least 20 years older. She doesn’t appear unhealthy. She just seems like someone who has squinted into the desert sun during a sandstorm her entire life. I know she has had some interesting jobs in the past. And SOMETHING must have happened to make her a cast iron, rigid force to be reckoned with. But I have resigned myself to the fact that these are mysteries that I’m never going to solve.

Sometimes you have to let a junk yard dog be just that. Let her roam the yard and have her routine. Yes, occasionally you’ll have to hop onto a car when she goes on a rampage, but other than that, just leave a sufficient amount of kibble in the bowl and live and let live.