Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Have A Pregnant Day

This is a post I wrote while working at my other life-draining big bank corporate job at Storgan Manly (name of company has been changed to protect their reputation). If you are/were a pregnant lady, get ready to be offended.

-B

She was so beautiful. I used to walk by her cubicle every day just to hear her voice and see her smile. She was like a Latina princess. She had the body of a goddess and the face of an angel. She smelled like flowers. She used to make my day. But one day, all that changed. She was no longer made up of sugar and spice and everything nice. Instead, she smelled like piss and shit, and acted like a bitch. At first, I couldn't figure out what was wrong with her. However, as the days progressed, I noticed that her belly began bulging. After her stomach became bulbous enough to be unmistakable, I dropped onto my knees and screamed at the skies, "Why lord, why!? Oh why did she have to get pregnant!?" She stopped wearing makeup, and every day she became louder, bitchier and uglier. After a while, she disappeared into the land of maternity leave, and the Spanish princess I once knew became but a bittersweet memory.

I frantically looked around at the cubicles surrounding my cubicle and started making a quick head count. "One, two, three, four, holy shit five! Five fucking pregnant hippos!" It was like a movie, "Attack of the Pregnant Ladies". I’d hold up a chocolate bar and they'd all charge my cube like a raging stampede of hungry hungry hippos. I wondered why there were so many pregnant ladies at the same time and my theory was that it was because it was currently winter so they probably got pregnant late fall. This would be perfect for a summer baby, a time when the baby had the least chance of getting sick, or any other complications at birth. But others told me I was wrong and told me it was because during late fall, everyone just wanted to stay indoors and fuck. It was too cold to go out and do anything else.

I made imaginary names for the pregnant hippos, and the most feared of them all was Ogre. Ogre’s upper body was twice the size of her stubbly legs, she was approximately six foot three, and she must've weighed two hundred and eighty pounds pre pregnancy. She spoke loudly on the phone all the time and whenever she got angry, her monstrously enormous head would turn red, and she would grunt loudly. The strange thing is her boyfriend. According to the pictures all over her desk, he was approximately five foot nine, and a hundred and eighty pounds. He also looked like a normal guy. The mental image of her crushing him, forcing him to impregnate her sends the most turbulent chills down my spine, and I pray for this man. I hear her yelling at him on the phone, and others who know ogre tell me that her boyfriend's a quiet nice guy. Lord have mercy on you poor sir.

The wicked witch of the west wing whispers wishes within her womb. She whispers into her belly button, "Please be a girl. I already have a boy so please be a girl." She walks around and says matter of factly to the twin blondes, "Oh I know it's going to be a girl because she's kicking a lot more than my son did. They say if it kicks more..." and yadda yadda yadda, the reasons go on and on. I secretly hex her womb and wish it to be another boy. One of the twin blondes sits right next to me so I get to hear all the baby talk I can take. They speak of how post pregnancy sex compares to pre pregnancy sex. They talk about how the baby kicks the bladder, and pee almost gushes out. I used to think a c-section was a part of a classroom reserved for only mediocre students. I pretend to ignore the extremely offensive discussions, and quietly fill my trashcan with vomit. In between these absurdly disgusting discussions, the twin blonde who sits next to me asks me questions. "Hey, I’m trying to open up this web page, but I already have another web page open. How do I do it?" I walk over to her desk and double click the internet explorer icon. Another internet explorer window opens. "Oh my God! That’s amazing B! Now I have two internet explorers open! You’re a genius!" I almost start crying at the stupidity of it all, but instead, I just say, "Thanks" and walk back to my desk.

The wicked witch of the west wing walks while waving. "Goodbye" she says to us all, and I reply, "Have a pregnant day! I mean... have a pleasant day!" She walks over to me with steam coming out of her hormone-infested ears and punts me to the other side of the room, from cube a1 to cube d8. Well, I'm exaggerating, we don't assign letters and numbers to the cubes, and I just said it to illustrate how far my body was actually projected. The ogre walks over to me and sits on me until I say, "uncle." I cry the whole way home.

All day I’d listen to these women vomiting, talking about what they can no longer eat, getting into detail about the anatomy of their own bodies, and crying out of nowhere. I’d be comforted by the fact that a few aisles down there were others who shared my suffering. I walk over to the west wing and hand the witch a water. Her head is down, so I knock on her desk. She looks up at me with tears running down her face. I freeze up, and run away. I tap the twin blonde who sits near my desk and whisper, "The witch is crying. The water might make her melt. You should help her." And so the twin blonde jumps up as bubbly as ever, and skips over to the west wing with a lollipop in her mouth. Meanwhile, I see the other hippos running as fast as their God given legs can carry them towards the bathroom, and I just know that they're holding vomit in their mouths as they run.

One by one, the hippos go to the land of maternity leave, and things quiet down in the office. The last one to go is the ogre, and she tortures everyone in her vicinity while she stays. For some reason the ogre is out to get me. I know this because when I first started working here, the ogre yelled out to me, "I’m out to get you sucka!" If I’m even a minute late to work, the ogre runs to my boss, jumps up and down and shakes the ground to get his attention. She then points towards my desk and chants, "He was late! He was late!" Then she runs to the bathroom to vomit again. She returns to her desk with a bright red smile glowering from her fangs and says, "Told ya I’d get ya sucka!" Then she grunts and runs to the bathroom once again.

The wicked witch of the west wing returns from oz and has a stupefied look on her face. "I had another boy." she says solemnly to the two twin blondes. They congratulate her regardless. Meanwhile I pretend not to hear, but lord forgive me, I crack a smile.

11 Comments:

Blogger plantain said...

We had 7 women pregnant in the space of about 18 months at the salon I worked at.... and I was one of the seven....I absolutely do not take offence at this story... because I was, to my horror, one of those women that I always laughed at... one of those women who didn't fucking shut up about her nausea, her sore back, what the amnio felt like, wether I was getting an epidural blah blah... as wonderful as it was being pregnant (all the mac n cheese you can eat!) ... I know it can turn even the raddest chick into an insufferable nincompoop... who also happens to resemble a six foot she-male with an exercise ball jammed under her black flag t-shirt... or this might have just been me.

10:08 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Dude, I can't wait to see your posts when you're in the corporate world for 10 years.

10:38 AM  
Anonymous Billy T said...

I have heard that it is even worse when the once-pregnant "shehemoths" experience the other end of female human development. That is, of course, menopause.

Any experience with that? Better? Worse?

3:03 PM  
Anonymous jl said...

Shit, i whinge all the time about my sore back (and my quads, and my calves, and my arse*) and i'm not even pregnant. It's just as well that i don't plan on getting sperminated any time soon.

*But why does everything hurt seemingly all the time?!

5:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

i work with all men and they are the most gossipy, bitchy and biggest babies on the motherfuking planet

5:31 PM  
Blogger CEO of the World said...

this post had nothing to do with gossip, nor was it supposed to be misogynistic (well maybe a little). it was about MY experience with a group of PREGNANT WOMEN. your experience seems to be with all office men, totally different, and trust me, i know how skeevy guys in the corporate world can be. but as far as i'm concerned, your comment was totally arbitrary.

-B

6:36 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

lol way to prove my point

10:19 PM  
Anonymous newyorkette said...

It is the rare pregnant woman that does not disgust me with her appearance and narcissism. And that is what has put me off getting pregnant myself. I'm simply too considerate.

I might add that low/working class women who become pregnant are quite different than their rich and middle class counterparts, and are not nearly as annoying. They are capable of serenely lifting baby carriages twice as big as they are, while the professional class pussies practice whining and using withering stares to try to force people to serve them.

1:32 AM  
Anonymous newyorkette said...

BTW, I ALWAYS help carry the strollers of the hardworking women in my neighborhood up the subway stairs (157th street).

I do NOT help the dingbats whose baby buggies (or shoes, or handbags) cost more than half my monthly rent. (They should be taking cabs and not taking up space on my subway.)

1:35 AM  
Blogger J. Alfred Prufrock said...

Some day you might have a baby yourself. Well OK, your "partner" could have a baby. What then?

Simple solution - adopt! Off-the-shelf is so much simpler.

J.A.P.

2:30 AM  
Anonymous lolo said...

You know that scene from the movie "Alien" where the creature bursts out of his chest? I think that is one of the most realistic depictions of pregnancy in all of history. Or maybe that's just my wishful thinking again.

11:40 PM  

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