The Office Gossip

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” don’t tend to dilate on the work environment here at our Official Headquarters. And, quite frankly, there’s a reason for this: What’s so darned interesting about an office full of well over 250 editors and interns, each neatly tucked in his own velour cubicle? We couldn’t think of anything, either.

In today’s humble “post,” however, we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” decided finally to discuss an aspect of the lifestyle here at the ole’ Headquarters that we firmly believe warrants mention. For those of you strangely incapable of reading the title of today’s humble “post,” we mean our resident office gossip.

It seems as if every workplace is home to such a chatterbox, and she ineluctably has a body shaped like the Liberty Bell. This, of course, ensures that she isn’t going to be the subject of much tittle-tattle herself—unless you count getting into your pants with a crane tittle-tattle. And we collectively don’t.

A few weeks ago, dear reader, the deep-pocketed financial backers here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly” gave us the official green light to hire yet another secretary. (Apparently, our deep-pocketed financial backers have extra-deep pockets of late; perhaps it has something to do with a transaction of blood for oil. That really enriched their coffers.)

Anyway, after a scorching series of oral interviews (if you do or do not catch our drift), we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” picked a woman named Winnie as the woman for the job. To be honest, we had to go against our collective better judgment on this one: We’ve always thought that a proper secretary should be named Flo. But, as no one fitting that nomenclature applied, we were stuck with the equine-sounding Winnie instead.

At first, Winnie proved to be a marvelous hire. She did everything one could reasonably expect of an office manager. There was a sufficient stock of erasers and push-pins at the Headquarters, which ensured that the staff could make all the “push-pin pigs” it desired. It was, in short, a little slice of heaven.

And yet, and yet, and yet. Apparently, this Winnie woman—who seemed so delightful at first—turns out to be quite a pill. Although seemingly congenitally genial, our pal Winnie has a penchant for office gossip.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” must inform you that our Official Headquarters isn’t exactly a prime locale to get a little dirt. After all, what kind of buzz do you expect to hear about an office whose employees all appear to be named “Chip”? Not much, we hope.

Still, Winnie kept prying. She gleefully spread the rumor that one of the senior editors here at “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly”—let’s just call him “Chip”—has a little thing for a youngish intern—let’s just call her “Chip.” To our intrepid secretary, this was a real scandal. It’s kind of like Tom Cruise being a diminutive homosexual.

We mean, come on: What reasonable fellow actually thinks to himself “I don’t want to date women when they are young and attractive, I want ugly, dilapidated ladies instead. That way, we can chat about all kinds of scintillating things, such as the first time she got genital warts”?

Frankly, dear reader, if you ask us—and we know that, technically speaking, you didn’t—good ole’ Winnie’s going to have to come up with a better scoop than that. As it is, Winnie’s gossip is less impressive than an elocution lesson from Magic Johnson. It’s less impressive than Pauly Shore’s career. And that, friends, is saying something.