Out of cheese

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2010-10-13 > 10:21 p.m.

Out of cheese

We had this French author who was a very, very angry lady. She used to love writing long, ranting emails explaining why my colleagues and I were incompetent. These tirades would span for six, seven, eight turgid, hate-filled paragraphs and we could never tell when one was coming or what would set her off. She was like an unstable Jack-in-the-box of carnivalesque rage. La la la turn the handle, tinkly music tinkly music yaay tinkly music BOO! I WILL EAT YOUR KIDNEYS AND DROWN YOUR BUDGIE.

This went on for about a year, and each week our self-esteem got smaller and smaller. But she never seemed to get any happier. The emails weren't helping anybody.

Looking back, I can't help wondering if it would have saved everybody a lot of heartache if, every time she remembered she was deranged and was worried that we'd somehow forgotten, she�d just copied and pasted the following into an email:

---

Hi there!

Just writing to remind you that I am a crazy person. When I go to sleep at night, my rage blasts from my slumbering corpse in animal form and rampages through the streets eating things you love. It may have consumed your pets, your dignity and possibly your car.

(That�s also why you�re out of cheese BTW. I am French after all. Soz.)

---

She never did, though.

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