And Then I Turned the Hose on the Neighbor Kids When They Walked on the Lawn

I'm sharing the conference room with an adorable student worker this week. She is 17, sweet as can be and a conscientious worker. She also has no wrinkles, can pull off the most darling little dresses without looking trampy and the world has not bitch-slapped her yet so I kind of hate her. You know how it is.

Anyway, I've been playing music here on my computer, and Teen Beat got the idea to do the same. I try to keep the volume low and respectful of those around me. Just because I think Billy Squier rocks doesn't mean everyone else does. Teen Beat was following a similar code of conduct and I thought, "Hey, maybe this will work!" She was even playing some Sinatra and showed a working knowledge of music outside the Britney canon. It was like a bizarro Battle of the Bands with our dueling music, but there was a mutual respect.

Today, however, the music has been abhorrent (wretched R&B where every song sounds the same awful noise) and she has been singing along. But wait! Then she sucker-punches me with bad country. I can get into Patsy Cline, George Jones, Hank Williams...old school stuff (not the crap being used to sell gigantic pick up trucks) but this shit is outside the paint.

Everyone keeps telling me to ask her to turn it down and maybe keep the sing-along to a minimum but it feels so...Cranky Old Lady. But I've always had a little bit of cranky old lady in me and I guess it's time I embrace it. But then Tiger Beat will go to the mall with Kylie and Marissa and Douchebag and tell them how my old person smell suffocates her and Oh my God, she totally listens to, like, bands called The Go-Go's and tries to dance in her seat.

Or maybe I'll sing along to "Sister Christian" and see how she likes them apples.

UPDATE: Just returned from lunch and while the quality of music has not gone up, the volume has gone down. Whew!