Que Sera Sera

Go fuck yourself

I work with all these men who wear ties and cufflinks and call me baby and yell the F word at each other all day long. I mean, seriously, all day long. It’s relentless. If you know me at all, you know I’m hardly averse to swearing, but at several points last week I wanted to say, “Boys! Seriously! Let’s cool it with the F word!” I’m mostly concerned for the sanctity of the swearing: it’s like when you say I love you too much and then it loses its meaning.

Also, since they all have really thick Long Island accents and constant tone of voice, I can never tell the difference between an angry go fuck yourself and a playful, I’m-just-breaking-your-balls go fuck yourself, and believe me, there are both, all day long. Evidently their accents keep them from placing mine, because on my first day, some guy said, “Where are you from?” and when I said, “Oklahoma,” he said, “Yeah, you sound like a hillbilly. No offense intended.” I think people who’ve always lived in New York can only differentiate between Same and Not Same, because while there’s no way I sound like a New Yorker, there’s also no way I’d ever qualify my accent as hillbilly, either. I know the fucking difference between “set” and “sit,” so that rules out the Oklahoma accent right there.

Anyway, I’m a little afraid that one day someone will overlook my legs and Midwestern charm and get mad and tell me to go fuck myself, and then I’ll really have to think quickly on my feet, because while I have a dangerously reflexive trigger finger, man, this is some pretty good money.

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