This ain't Oprah!

The other day, in my office, I was obliged by a colleague to meet with a young woman who recently moved to New York. She met with me ostensibly to get my advice about how to get her start in the big, bad city.

Being a charitable-minded person, I cheerfully agreed.

I would then live to regret that decision.

I met this woman, who seemed nice enough in that sort of bland, hippie-girl sort of way. Appearances, however, were deceiving and I found myself backed into a corner, TRAPPED, by Too Much Information Girl.

To say that this girl had issues is an understatement. National Geographics has issues. This girl was the Library of Congress.

Within ten minutes of meeting her, she told me deeply personal things about her physical disabilities, her grandmother's death and surgical procedures on her reproductive system. She was the Endless Talker. She shared far too much in short order. My mind was reeling with all of the different ways that I could get out of the conversation quickly. I strained to look like I was paying attention by fixing my gaze on her non-lazy eye. My god, how I struggled!

Twenty excruciating minutes later, I was like a mouse caught in a trap. I was at that point willing to gnaw my leg off to save myself. It was unreal! How had this girl managed to get to this point in her life without benefit of somebody--anybody!--telling her that bombarding an innocent bystander with the inane and gruesome details of your mundane existence is just not okay?! Pouring battery acid in my ears was starting to seem like a very viable option.

Finally, there was a pause in conversation. I paused my rocking in a fetal position to find her staring at me inquisitively. Shit, I thought, she just asked me a question and I don't know the answer.

"Right!" I replied, "That's right. You are correct!"

She smiled radiantly and sallied forth. Did I answer correctly? Who knows?

Finally, as her diatribe seemed to be winding down, she said, "I've just moved to New York and I'm really just looking to make some friends." She then looked at me hopefully.

DEAR GOD, I thought, I HOPE SHE DOESN'T MEAN ME!

"Ah, well," I replied, "I'm sure that you'll make friends soon enough."

Try the self-help aisle at Barnes and Noble.

"So," she asked, brightly, "Do you have any professional advice for me?"

"Yes," I answered, equally brightly, "I would suggest that in future conversations that you let people get a word in edge-wise."

It ain't show friends, people, it's show business.

So, maybe I'm a bitch, but that chick was craaaazy.