Biker Grandma

There is a woman at my workplace who I swear is a biker grandma. She is actually one of the proofreaders who is training me, and I find her rather intimidating. She has been doing the job for 17 years (I think she said) and she is one of these know-it-all types who corrects you a million times because "this is the way I've always done it", and by God, you know I won't question it, because to tell you the truth, this woman scares me.

Even though I am 41 years old, I am still a little mystified and frightened of authority figures, and even though this woman technically isn't my boss, or technically even my supervisor (at least, not that I've been told), there is no question that she is my boss and that is supervising me. Nuh uh.

The other woman I'm working with is the complete opposite, very sunny and cheerful, plump, short blonde hair, high lilting voice. This other woman -- who I have come to think of as the biker grandma -- has a voice deep as a well, from what I speculate may be years of sucking on bottles of Jack Daniels and beer, and the raspiness of a chain smoker. She has curly, grey hair, very unkempt (it doesn't even look like she combs it) just past her shoulders, and her face is as worn out and tired as the rest of her seems to be. About twenty times a day she lets out a succession of really bad hacking coughs, and she sounds like she's only minutes away from being put on a respirator. But she is a tough old cookie. A crusty old broad. I can so see her standing holding a grandchild, in the midst of leather-clad bikers, cuffing her biker son on his tattooed arm for some infraction.

So these are my co-workers, my co-cubicle mates: Suzy Q and Motorcycle Mama.

I'm not making fun of her, honest. If she knew I was writing this she'd probably kick my ass. So let's just keep this between you and me, okay?