Self Control

During a quiet moment sometime around lunchtime last Tuesday, two women walked by my desk. 

That event, in and of itself, was not so blog-worthy but, the portion of their conversation with which I was gifted was priceless.

I work in a cubicle farm.  I sit on the edge of the farm and my left-side cubbie wall borders a hallway that runs past the farm like a babbling brook.  Passersby babble (sometimes to each other) as they stroll through the farm because nobody thinks about the people on the other side of the wall. 

That babbling brook-side of the wall also has a holy trifecta which draws people to the spot directly across from my cubbie like antelope and elephants to a watering-hole in the Sahara on the 4th of July.  It features a water fountain, a scale, and the male and female bathrooms (a quadrafecta?).  It's hangout central.  And I have never found myself wanting for gossip, good gouge, and just general jibber-jabber.   Ever.  I only have to listen.

On this day, these two women were discussing getting their hair done:

     Lady 1:  " ... oh and you *know* it's going to be much much bigger this time!"

     Lady 2:  "Yes, but I kind of like it bigger.   Well -- not as big as I liked it when I was younger.  I couldn't *get* it big enough then!"

     Lady 1:  "Oh I've always liked mine big.  But I'm happy if it turns out just okay now.  I'm not so picky anymore."

     Lady 2:  "Now I like it loooooong.  Reeeeaaaally llllooooooooong!"

     Lady 1:  "Ooooh, not me.  That would make my neck sore, y'know?  Because I'd always be having to keep it up all the time ... "


As they continued their journey down the hallway and became inaudible, I am very proud to claim that I was successful in my herculean effort to resist the maddening temptation to stand up and shout out what I wanted to shout over the cubicle wall and down the hallway as they passed.

It was a wonderful moment.  Brief but intense.