Lunch brings together the various departments within the factory. Seriously there are some people I would never see if it wasn’t for this half hour. Or those I see just making the trek to the lunchroom.
When I started I worked from eleven to seven with four other girls. We had lunch at 3:00 alone. Wouldn’t talk and wouldn’t sit directly next to one another, always at least a space between each of us. Now I liked this, because I value my personal space and silence.
We are not allowed our phones on the floor, so I usually use lunch as a time for catching up on texts. Or just meditating and taking myself far away from there. Envisioning my next vacation or just Friday afternoon at five.
However, now that they’ve abolished the late shift, I eat at 12:30, a normal time, and a crowded time. I’ve grown accustomed to eating with others. This took some time. Having to wait in line for the microwave, making small talk, rubbing elbows…
I usually try and sit at the head of table. Mostly because I like my space, but somehow it’s gotten around that I like the end, because I sext.
What is sexting? I don’t even think I know how to sext. Actually, I think I know… But, I still don’t do it. Unfortunately I blush on a dime and anytime someone accuses me of sexting I immediately go beet red.
Now, I agree with the fact I don’t like people seeing my texts, but not because they’re inappropriate. It started back in May when I started seeing someone new, being that we live in a small town, I don’t need everyone knowing my business. So, I tried to keep it on the down low for as long as possible. Even though now it has become lunchroom chatter.
But, because I want privacy when I text it has become this joke.
Buddy got up the other day when he saw me walk in and told me I could have my spot, because he didn’t want to upset me and for me to write something mean about him in my blog. Well, I am!
It’s now referred to as the sexting spot.
Anyway, I have another complaint about the lunchroom apart from being labeled a sexter.
Now, Buddy boy who sits next to me thinks it’s alright to call his wife from the table. I mean when I make calls I leave the table, yet alone the room. Although, as we already established I value my privacy (kinda ironic I’m blogging, but whatever it’s anonymous, sort of).
But, Buddy not only calls his wife, but talks in his lovey-dovey voice, gets all sappy, professing his love. And, that is awesome that they’re happy, don’t get me wrong. I just don’t need to hear it. Especially, when he’s talking over our engaging conversation on the weather. I’d like to hear whether Worker Y thinks it will snow or not!