I was an early bird at the office this morning - out of the house with only a biscuit for breakfast and at my desk before 8.30. Yes, I call that early! Three colleagues were talking quietly at the other side of the open plan office when I arrived. They didn't look up or speak and I shrugged it off as one of those things - and failed to notice my own faux pas: I didn't say 'Good morning' to the air as I breezed in through the door.
In Britain, we'd see that as just being discreet, not making a fuss, not imposing yourself arrogantly on other people. In Holland, they see it exactly the other way round: that arrogant woman has just walked in without greeting us.
I hadn't been at my desk more than 20 minutes when a bright young colleague who I thought was nice came flouncing by and said: "You're quiet. You never say a thing. What's wrong - do you not like us?" and, while I gawped at her in shock and gathered my wits about me ready to launch my defence, added: "Are you like this at home?"
WHAT? What cheek! You don't talk like this to a colleague you've only shared an office with for two days...
Of course, she wouldn't know that only the very night before, Bud had said to me: "J, you're so quiet, why don't you speak more?!" She wouldn't know, would she? Would she.....?
Something about the defiant look in her eye made me feel she definitely did know she'd hit a tender spot somewhere in me.
I hate it when people accuse me of being quiet. As though it's a crime. What's wrong with being quiet? Why does it bother her, bother you if I'm not babbling like a brook from morning till night? I accept that for Bud, a born chatterbox if ever there was one, it can be a bit much (or a bit too little) at times. But for a colleague who sits on the other side of the room?
Hmm. Methinks something else is going on here. Let me see... she has a rather menial job that involves unpacking a lot of boxes - and stashing pens and papers away in the cupboards behind my desk. She has to pass my desk several times a day. Perhaps she feels overlooked...
Curse the open office. How am I supposed to work if I have to greet everyone who passes my desk during the day? I sit next to the door, for g..'s sake...
In any event, she touched a nerve in me, and made a major dent in an otherwise promising day. By the time my boss rang at 9.30, sounding bright and optimistic, I was already wishing I could put on my coat and go home again.
I told Bud about it when I did get home this evening and he dissolved in chuckles. Just rescued himself from a clip around the ear by agreeing that only a Dutch person could be blunt and rude enough to barge in and make such a dumb remark. And then he took me out for a drink and cake - and sat quietly in the bar while I talked his head off about my working day.
Unfortunately, we didn't put it on tape to produce as evidence that I'M NOT ALWAYS QUIET, DAMN IT!
Anyway, what's wrong with being a writer, not a talker? As I said to the Dear Colleague, "maybe it's just my style".
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