T-Rex Strikes Again

OMG! Carla van der Voogle strikes again. The most annoying employee in our company, she even has an annoying name. 

I call her T-Rex, because she has a great huge arse – not that I am judging anyone by physical appearance, [and I have just updated my certification of company policy this very day] of course not – and seemingly short arms and she never stops chattering away. The gob is never still, you can, actually, hear her most days before you see her. If she did a primeval lizard shriek in the middle of the office [when the people displeased her] I’m sure no one would be surprised.

Be very wary of the person who never stops talking, said my dear old gran (that's the gran who used to sit in a chair and drink a bottle of brandy and smoke a packet of Kools a day for the last 20 years of her life, and not the gran who wheeled and dealed in property until she died at the age of 95, still with a property contract in her hand.)

Anyway, Carla is some sort of middle manager of long standing with the company. I imagine she lives in a ground floor flat one of those 1960's orange brick blocks of flats, in a suburb like Wantirna, with her 4 cats and her collection of porcelain ornaments all sitting on their own doilies. There would be plastic on the furniture to keep the floral fabric looking new, of course.

I imagine she’s been on her own all her life, other than that one night after a work Xmas function when she drank too much champagne and she and mouth-breathing Ivan from accounts slurred and sweated their way through an entanglement on the vinyl seats in the back of Ivan's poverty-pack Commodore in the back streets of the CBD, after which she ended up in the back of a taxi cross-eyed and clueless, feeling nauseous and head spinning as the car slid its way out to the far side of the eastern suburbs, as Ivan slept it off with a pair of panties bigger than his actual head for a pillow, too pissed to drive. Woken Saturday afternoon with one of her cats licking her face. All four cats sitting on the bed contemplating eating her in place of breakfast, as death could be the only reasonable explanation of the inconceivable change of schedule.

Her employment dates back to the years our company was a small family-like operation (not that it was ever a family business, but it had that feel) when my predecessor, probably that person’s predecessor, even the person before that, if the truth be known, used to calculate personal financial figures for the staff. I don't do this for anyone now, except Carla. 

Every year, she gets in contact with her figures, pink knitted twinset pearls and grey woollen slacks, smelling of Old Tweed, which her mother used to always wear. 

“Woo Who!” 

Usually at a time I am busy, she has a great knack for that, as if she couldn't be more annoying if she tried. And my, now, boss says,

"Oh, just do it for her." 

I object to this every year, and my boss says to me again, 

"Oh, just do it for her."

It is because Carla has been around for so long, and she knows everyone, and she never stops with her questions, statements, demands until she gets her way. I think everyone ends up saying, 

"Just do it for her," just to shut her up. 

She is always smiling and laughing like she is your best friend, but if you don't do as she wants the sheer volume of wordage you get in response is akin to Guantanamo Bay's method of waterboarding. Carla never lets up until she gets her way, all done with a smile. [Someone make her stop! Would, actually, be the collective noun]

So, begrudgingly, last week I prepared a spreadsheet for her figures. I included phrase that any figures I provide are only of a general and advisory nature and that she should seek professional advice to confirm all the figures.

This morning, I have a long email from Carla, firstly acknowledging my warning of a general and advisory nature, going on to question all assumptions I have made, complete with a completely re-worked spreadsheet, coming up with completely different figures I provided to her.

Presumably, I now have to go through it all again, (Yes, not only do I have to do this once, but now I have to do it for a second time. Really, annoying Carla!) investigate and understand the assumptions she has made, and restate the figures to her again.

Seriously?