beef jerky and cubicles

i am the youngest person by at least 10 years in the of sea of cubicles at my work. i feel myself losing any shred of coolness i may or may not have had every moment that i spend around the goobers i work with. the fact is that i need money, and most likely i was never cool anyways.

yesterday, the woman down the hall from me creeps on my special little 5 by 5 cube with her eyes bugging out of her head in some sort of post-meth induced trance with her well developed underbelly jiggling mightily as she invades the sad amount of personal space i have. i swear to god she never stops eating.

she walks into my cube to ask me some shit about something completely inane and mind-numbingly boring. i feel her hot beef jerky breath on the back of my fucking neck and small crumbs of some food packed with lard dropping down the collar of my shirt while her basketball of an underbelly slightly rubs against the back of my head (is that thing contagious?). vengeance for this horrendous abuse of my body and soul was worthless, as the food she was eating had done enough damage during the short trip from her mouth to her stomach.

whatever the opposite of a boner is, that's what it felt like.