The Third Dog

There's one in every office. Apparently, even in the really, really small offices. It's the sweet, well-intentioned person who initially seems cool and easy to talk to but after not too long reveals themselves as that-person-who-under-no-circumstances-is-ever-going-to-allow-you-to-peacefully-resolve-the- chat-and-move-on-with-your-day.

Each and every conversation with them goes on for what feels like hours (and/or actual hours). On a Monday, you ask them how their weekend was and they don't finish telling you about it until well into Thursday.

A seedling of interest blooms quickly into a world of boredom, glazed eyes and thoughts of suicide. You fade out of their monologue regarding their step cousin's third dog and begin to visualize yourself chewing your arm off at the shoulder. You tell them that you really have to get back to work but they make no indication of your having spoken and they just keep on keepin' on. Forced to be rude, you begin typing and return your gaze to your keys, but they remain in your office, energetically demonstrating the height of their step cousin's third dog as well as a step-by-step reenactment of how it's grown since it was a puppy. Riveting. You eventually leave the room and they continue talking to your back. From down the hall, you can hear that they're still going. You return from an extended visit to bathroom and they're still there!

Must we describe the consistency of what the third dog left in the yard?!?! Please kill me.