Dear guy I work with

We used to pass each other in the hallway and neither of us would utter a word. We would barely acknowledge each other, save for the presence of another human being as to otherwise not physically run into one another. I was fine with our relationship. But you had to go and change it and now we are now both proud participants of the casual hi. Thanks, thanks a lot. I hate the casual hi.

For those of you who may be unfamiliar with the casual hi, good. Run the hell away from it as fast as you can. Don't stop to for questions just run. The casual hi is a distant cousin of the casual fuck (AK the quad girl from sophomore year). But without any of the benefits that go along with it. Like the fucking part. Or the blowjobs. The one thing they have in common is that after the initial bursts of excitement is over all that's left are awkward pauses and silent elevator rides. Dicey situation to say the least.

Which inevitably leads small talk: finality incarnate. Think of the guy that at the gym who dozen' t bother wiping the sweat off of the machine you are going to use. Or the guy behind you at the supermarket who asks you questions about your groceries. Now imagine that you see these guys every day, heck sometimes 4 times a day. And they want to know how you're doing.

And here's the rub, I don't care how you're doing in the least. Don't get me wrong I feign interest. I can cajole with the best of 'en, but quite frankly I'm sick of it. It's not that I want you to have a bad day. I hope you are doing well. I hope neither your dog, grandmother or car just died. But other than that I really don't care what you're doing this weekend. I especially don't care how your day's going when it's 4:29 and I'm counting down the time to go home. I just don't want to carry on this charred anymore.

So we sit on the opposite sides of a shared cubicle wall. I know that your son plays soccer for the Blue Jays, half-back if I remember correctly. I know that you drive a '01 Accord that has 90,000 miles on it and you are overdue for an oil-change. I know that you really, really, really like the buffalo chicken sandwiches that they serve in the cafeteria. But I don't care. And more importantly I wish I didn't know all that.

Dammit, I knew that I never should have introduced myself after class that night. It's such a delicate balance. Granted we work at the same company, but never on together on the same project. And now the great cosmic balance that once was is all out of whack.