Why are my colleagues not interesting? Since my blog is dedicated to working while black and female, I'd really love to be one of those bloggers who can write EVERYDAY about the folks on their job AND keep people entertained by doing so. But I just can't. At least not with my current colleagues....
Let's take it back to Cocoa's more interesting, Pretty Ridiculous days of her former career. BTW, for those of you new to C.G.O.T.J., the letters "p" and "r" really stand for public relations:).
Kind of Tara Reid meets, well, um, Tara Reid, blonde, always messy hair and covert ghetto antics (did I mention she was from the backwoods of Tennessee?), J.P. ALWAYS had some serious shyt going on. Her daily contributions to the office generally consisted of label-whoring online, stumbling off the elevator high - and NOT from weed - being very unproductive, or giving some melodramatic performance of a lifetime. Why all the drama? In the words of my wannabe socialite boss who would have drank her urine hot had she offered: "J.P. just has SO much stress with her father being Upstate (Cocoa codeword for 'the penitentiary') and her "granny," the socialite, who pays for everything, yet just won't accept her humble beginnings, and her drug-addicted (read crackhead) mom back home who's married to that drug-dealer (black) guy."
Cocoa said (and still says!): Yes, unfortunate, indeed, but that crap has NADA to do with the fact that her evil, cut-throat self rarely completed an assignment.
Stereotypical J.A.P. to the fullest, R.G. was also a cokehead who, like Jen, shared an affliction for asserting their worth through labels and status. So, you can only imagine how she conflicted she became when learning that this little Cocoa had accomplished several things she had not and owned several (authentic) things that she did not own. Matter of fact, she was actually kind of psycho like this with all of her Cocoa-coated colleagues. "Cocoa… (while squatted next to my desk, peering into my purse, lapel pressed back) OMG!...is this Prada real???" "Cocoa (while I'm typing and she's fingering my bracelet...attached to my f#cking arm!) holy shyt! Are these real diamonds???" I could go on and on and on, but then I think...why?
Though us black girls are supposed to be all tough and things, Cocoa can admit to getting a little um, intimidated, when girly began traipsing into work with replicas of all of my accessories. Each time she displayed a new buy not unlike my own, she made it a point to model the stuff for me. Even my bosses were like "WTF?!?!" That schizo was totally Single White Female'ing me. So, I had a right to be a little scurred, right?
The only girl in a family full of big-business boys, R.E. actually 'ran' (if that's what one could call it) our agency, which happened to be a spin-off of her family's already successful agency. So, perhaps because she was the only girl in a family full of boys, R.G. had a few problems running herself like a lady. As CEO of our firm, which dealt with some of the country's leading companies, homegirl's hair was NEVER combed. While eating in front of colleagues and clients, she always had the likes of salad dressing, ketchup or wine adorning her entire oral region as if she were holding the lead in some weird, food-fetish porn flick. Her most-famous move, however, involved the company bathroom, exhibitionism and squatting, as she liked to chat up folk while pissing with the stall door open.
Oh, and all of these folk are just a few weirdoes from Job #1 only. No wonder I only stayed three months.