Gym Shoos

To everyone who works in Joe’s office:
Joe will be late getting in this morning. He mistakenly thought that somehow, despite his poor form and apparent lack of stamina, he would be able to outlast me on the treadmill. Perhaps he should have been warned that I was running ten miles. But I suppose I didn’t seem like the kind of girl who could go the distance or who cared to compete, because I didn’t seem interested in making a big deal out of a little incident that had occurred earlier that morning, when he and someone else were yelling across me to engage in inane conversation for at least five minutes, and I finally took off my earphones to tell them (politely!) that I could hear them even with the volume at its maximum.
You should know, further, that Joe is not going to be in the best of moods. A big spiteful infant like Joe is going to need to unleash his fury on someone, because, despite his best efforts to instigate a full-fledged fight by pointing out, after getting back on his treadmill after one of his trips to the water fountain, that people were going to trip over my coat (which I’d ensured, prior to my run, was not in anyone’s way, behind the treadmill row), all he was able to get out of me was a simple, “Oh, you’re just being a big fucking baby because I told you to be quiet earlier!”
But Joe is tenacious! What a whippersnapper! He pounced back! “So you have the mouth of a fucking fishwife, do you?”
Joe didn’t like it when the little lady responded, “As much as you do, honey! Do not even TALK to me!” and threw up her hand in classic show-me-the-hand fashion, turned up the volume again, and blithely ignored the vomit stream of vitriol that I could see him spewing, via my right side peripheral vision.
You may be interested to know that you cannot trust your colleague Joe. He is a duplicitous schmuck. Although he had apologized earlier for speaking across me so loudly, he had clearly done so in an attempt to impress the girl he was talking to. Oh, that Joe! He’s such a fox!
“We actually were rude,” Joe had said with a rueful smile, dropping his contrite chinlessness into his chest. At that point, Joe was trying to impress me, too, with his joie de vivre and good sportsmanship. What a guy! If he was lucky, maybe he could bag two babes before breakfast!
I’d apologize for the disastrous, torturous day that Joe is going to inflict on you, but alas, I am not responsible for Joe’s petty churlishness. I just hope he had time to scrub himself thoroughly, because he reeked of ingrained, baked-on sweat. His body stinks as much as his attitude.
Good luck today, dealing with this sour bastard. I have a feeling, though, that you’re used to it.