Danielle the Dragon

Tis the season. Tis the month for long lines, blowing through many, many miles in the car and burning through umpteen gallons of gasoline (at $3.21/gallon!) driving here and there and everywhere looking for the gift and the tree and the ATM and the food and the booze and the perfect Secret Santa gift for under $20 and it had better be good, ‘cause no-one in my office can keep a freakin’ secret so Danielle is gonna know it was from me, anyway. And, of course, she did.

Happy. Freakin’. Holidays.

Lucky for me, I happened to be the first to reach into the hat and pick my Secret Santa gift…and I happened to choose the gal whose desk butts up against mine….for there are no secrets when you’re a Dragon and all us creative-genus-types tend to do better when we can let our mojos mingle together and play in the same space.

Minds out of the gutter, people.

Danielle is one of those people who knows everything about everything in our office. We’d hate her if we didn't like her so much. People call her name all day long and she never gets rattled. I honestly don’t understand how she keeps all that information in her head at the same time without having it explode. I’m thinking it’s possible she goes home every night and spontaneously combusts…then she stuffs all the brain matter back in and does it all over again the next day.

Often Sometimes, I’ll have my headphones on and my music up pretty loud, so I can concentrate on the Glee soundtrack my thought-provoking words for my article and I’ll peek at her over my monitor. I can watch her interact with my co-workers and can draw my own conclusions based on everyone’s body language, since I can’t technically hear a thing. I find that I enjoy making up my own dialogue:

Danielle’s typing…eternally typing…and staring intently at her monitor. Her computer is often slower than her thoughts, so she’s often scowling at it…or sometimes, I think I lip-read her say to her computer, “I hate you and I want you to die.” At least, I think that’s what she says. Then boss Ric (Dragon…Ric Dragon) walks over and stands next to her. His lips are moving…but Danielle’s not reacting at all…just keeps staring at the screen and typing away. Then Ric reaches for a piece of the office chocolate (of which Danielle is the keeper) and I see Danielle’s lips move…and I could swear she says, “If you take more than one piece, you will die”…but I can’t be sure. She never stops typing. Ric’s talking again and I’m creating the dialogue in my head:

Ric: “Gee, Danielle. You’re the best Dragon ever. The way you type so fast and know so much and manage to stuff all your brain matter back into your head every night is just awesome. Next to -athryn, you’re the best thing to happen to this place.”

And I scowl…’cause he’s left off the “K” in my name again and I hate when he does that. Then I realize that Ric’s looking at me and he’s still talking and now he’s pointing and now Danielle’s eyes are on me as well, so I rip my headphones off my head and I say, “What?” and Ric says, “What??” and Danielle just rolls her eyes and goes back to typing and glowering at her monitor.

But if you look really hard, there’s a glimmer of a smile playing on her lips ‘cause she knows what I’m doing when I’ve got those headphones on and I’ve mentally left the building for the sandy beaches of Kathrynville.

That’s why I had to ensure I got her a good Secret Santa gift. No-one can stay that calm forever…and I figure it’s just a matter of time before she blows. Maybe…if I’m really lucky, she’ll remember those funky, fashionable fingerless arm warmers I got her for Christmas and she won’t will me to die.

I figure Ric and the computer are on their own.