Never was one to get caught up in workplace politics,
Never wanted to be there, either, but that paycheck is a powerful incentive,
Got along well with fellow workers in general even if we’re treading different tracks,
A team environment encourages camaraderie as long as you don’t slack,
But in that type of setting you’re also bound to clash with others,
Really not much to say, each individual’s an acquired taste,
For every three friends made, two more might not vibe with ya,
One of life’s unfortunate truths, suck it up and get on with it,
Such was the case a few years back, a fellow worker and I did we clash,
For reasons that’ll get eyes rollin’, old gal forever fixin’ for a killin’,
Couldn’t care less so long as she minded her own business, her problems with different races a heavy burden, gotta bear that shit alone, narrow mind and all,
All about that W.A.P, not like Meg and Cardi, the one between ‘01 and ‘73,
Worked together for the Public Service a few years back, stayed in our respective lanes for the most part,
But when paths intertwined there was a stand-off of sorts, shit never popped off but did remind her in subtle terms the translucence of that fake granny demeanour,
Been asked at first contact my proficiency in English, Bitch, what language do you think I’m speaking?
Seen her do it to others, got nothing but backlash for all her troubles,
Never was going to win any popularity contests but fuck it, gotta wear that false sense of patriotism,
Sure as hell got triggered when this young whipper snapper corrected her on her ignorance regarding different cultures,
Welcome to the present era, Madam, the days of Curtin and co are gone, can’t turn back the clock, so grow the fuck up and quit hating.
Data entry our key responsibility, sometimes scanning and mail sorting, it was straightforward and uncomplicated, the pay was lit and the hours convenient,
Clocked in four to five hours a day, sometimes double during peak periods,
It was a different era, before folks lodged their taxes through mediums electronical,
Always did pride myself as a rather handy typist, a youth spent gaming and writing endless reports for school assignments prepped me for this,
Fingers running rampant on the keyboard, churning out a million figures per minute, but alas, your boy’s heavy-handed, and for fellow workers there were glaring consequences,
Hitting those keys like Travis Barker destroys kits, disturbing the peace most likely, but the neighbours seem cool with it,
Oblivious to the symphony I’m creating, earphones plugged in and in the zone, but for you-know-who this maestro was a merchant of chaos,
Came to a head one day, felt a tap on the shoulder, wasn’t too crazy about the interruption but her request I accommodated,
Agreed to cool these hands, for a while it was weightlessness on that keyboard, could only keep it up for so long, before they knew it the drummer boy came marching home,
Asked for a second time, did she, this time with a hint of irritation, give an early-twenty-something-year-old some sass it shall be reciprocated,
Made glorious music on those keys, damn near broke those precious tabs, those within the vicinity shifting, they knew a collision course was at hand,
Could have doubled as the fireworks on NYE, perhaps the opening sequence from Saving Private Ryan, really went to town on those keys,
‘Take that you backwards old crone’, none of this shit was my problem,
Finally, belatedly, she saw the writing on the proverbial wall, collected her gear then fled to the other side, away from the machine gun fire,
‘Bye, Felicia,’ thought I, smug satisfaction etched across my mug,
Looking back through a grown man’s eyes it was immature and kind of petty, but any chance to razz a prejudiced old bitty is a once-in-a-blue-moon-opportunity.