NO WORSE DEATH

How's that old Mark Twain quote go? There are many ways to die, but there's no worst death than being talked to death. Forgive my George W. moment here, but hopefully you get the gist of what I'm trying to convey. Every single night, irregardless of time or weather conditions, homeboy stays after his shift and process to waterboard me with his meaningless conversations. Old commercials from  his childhood, 80's films, little kid talking about farts, this is the shit I'm forced to endure. And there's no escaping the hour of torment. I use the bathroom, print paperwork in the office, make coffee, you know anything and everything hoping wishing praying that God would be merciful and homeboy would have left. Nope, he's still here waiting for me like those poor homeless alcoholics you see waiting for the liquor store to open in the morning. Why does he do this? I have no idea. I guess this is what happens when you don't occupy your life with things to do. 

A tenant has just walked in, aware homeboy's schedule, seeing the time  she asks with befuddled look on her face

"Why are you still here?"

Homeboy replies " I'm here talking to my co-worker."

Talking to is the correct phrase because we are not actually having a conversation. It's him talking and me saying "Yup" "WOW" and "I see". I ain't listening and frankly I work nights for a reason amigo. It's for less conversation not more.

“Well, once it’s time for me to go I’m out.” She says. That’s the usually response from most people once it’s time to head home especially if your shift ends  late into the night. He smiles sheepishly at her, his face showing signs of slight embarrassment at her comment. As she heads to the elevator, he turns and starts right back into whatever bullshit he was talking at me about.  Not to me, because that would mean I am paying attention. And he continues on and on and on for another 45+ minutes. Allah be merciful.