Mooch Update

My previous attempts at controlling the new office Mooch's impolite requests for food and transportation have been quite successful, I'm happy to report. Does she have her own car? No. But she sure doesn't call me in the morning and ask me for a ride. She still hasn't figured out how to bring her own lunch to work, either. And it's certainly not because she doesn't have the money for it. It just seems to...slip her mind. Which brings me to my next nuanced understanding of the Mooch.

I think she's a crack baby. Well, more accurately, she's a pot baby. Her parents were pseudo hippy Hare Krishnas, and I'm pretty convinced she grew up around pot; probably inhaled it since she was little. Why? She's reallllllly slow to understand things, especially if you use a metaphor of any kind. It's much more intense than being around a twenty-something who started smoking pot in college, even if they smoke regularly. This seems like permanent damage. Some recent examples:

Director/Buddy laughingly says, "You know, you've probably figured out by now that whatever you learn on this job is pretty much a trial by fire."
Mooch: "Fire? Is something on fire?"


Me: "Send these letters to the board members. There's one group for X county and another stack for Y county, so be sure not to get them mixed up."
Mooch: "How do I do that?"
Me: "Um. You put them in envelopes and address them."
Mooch: "Uh...envelopes? Where would I find those?" Envelopes are sitting on her desk. Literally front and center. She's sitting in front of them.
Me: "Probably there." Points to envelopes.
Mooch: "Oh. Those are envelopes?"


Director/Buddy laid a file on her desk with a note that said, "Phone number of client not working. Please find out why." She got it back on her desk with a return note from Mooch: "Tried to contact client--can't. Number out of order."


Director/Buddy, calling the office while out in the county: "I need you to get the green paper beside the refrigerator and fax it to the number on the upper lefthand corner."
Mooch: "There's a fax in the refrigerator??"


Jesus Mary Christ. You can't give her complicated directions. She doesn't listen to conversations, she just tunes out. So when you ask her something, she says, "Wha?", and you have to repeat the whole thing all over again. If she has multiple tasks to do, she gets overwhelmed and says she doesn't have the "time." We're talking addressing envelopes here, people, not major accounting. She still smells. I haven't figured out how to accurately combat that. So I Febreeze the office down when I come in. I know she's not learning impaired--she has a college bachelor's degree.

I dare you to guess what it's in.

-- Virgil