Politics and Paranoia, or I Need an Isolation Chamber

I have come to the earth-shattering conclusion that I am truly, truly horrible at office politics. Anyone who knows me even a little probably understands this intrinsically. 

Most of my inability to play the politics of any given office setting is my misanthropic bent. However much my MA in human rights might belie the aforementioned assertion, the reality is I'm a cynic and misanthrope at heart, not because I hate people per se (or rather, the idea of people), but because I cannot reconcile their accompanying bullshit.

I've tried to find justification from experts on why I shouldn't have to partake in the nasty gossip and bullshit that occurs in every office everywhere since 1000 BC (before cubicles). Unfortunately, no such experts support my self-appointed mantle of superiority. Instead, I've only found mention time and again of the myriad reasons why I should sit around with my coworkers and snipe (or at the very least listen to them do so and nod accordingly while trying desperately to figure out how the fuck I ended up here).

The worst part of all of this, of course, is the underlying old adage about gossip: if they'll say it to you, they'll say it about you. That, coupled with managers who do not have any grasp whatsoever on confidence, leaves me on the verge of what can only be described as an "intellectual bleeding ulcer."

So, do I participate? Do I passively listen? Do I simply excuse myself and feign deafness? 

I can't feign deafness, I've never been able to. I don't intentionally eavesdrop, but I've always been in a state where my brain can usually process lots of stimuli simultaneously. Also, I'm paranoid as hell. 

I have never been paranoid like this before. As a teenager, it didn't particularly bother me to be mocked on occasion, even if I remember these incidents (so perhaps I'm lying to myself there), but my reaction was always more or less, "meh, whatever. It doesn't mean anything in the long run." And at the time, that was true.

But now? Now it might actually matter. I'm a temp, the lowest of the low, an non-entity half-human who takes her licks and still comes in every day because I have no recourse otherwise. Yes, I end up doing the administrative assistant's work because she tells me to. No, that's not my job, but who the hell would intervene on my behalf? No one, because the management are as beholden to her caprice as I.

But it actually matters what people think of me here, since that is like the fulcrum on which my future employment teeters. The ability to actually do the work is secondary to whether or not I can mesh with the culture here. And so far, I know I can't.

I'm quiet and polite. As an introvert, I tend not to easily strike up conversations with people. That, and the people who sit near me must think cubicles are magical cones of silence. 

So when I overhear two coworkers who are about my age, cackle in valley-girl tones "OMG what is UP with her hair!?" I catch myself running a nervous hand over my ponytail. (I also wonder at what point people decide to end every sentence with a placating uptick in tone, but that's beside the point.) I work in a fishbowl brimming with aspiring Regina Georges and company.

On Wednesdays, we wear pink, motherf*ckers.

So, what do I do? I can't sabotage anyone's diet, or hope for an unfortunate school bus encounter. I'm not going to participate in the gossip scene because god knows a few innocent and offhanded comments of mine have already gotten blown way out of proportion and context and, you know, beyond all reasonable, adult analysis. 

My only recourse, obviously, is to play along and hope for the best, without incriminating anyone or myself. I mean, when someone says to me, "I just found out your boss is married to a woman," what do I do? I wanted to say, "AND YOUR POINT IS ... ?" But what I said was, "oh" in as an unaffected manner as I could muster while I seethed with 'that is in no way an okay workplace discussion and even if it were that doesn't matter to me' rage.

So I will limp through these days with all the social graces of a skunk, trying not to say something horrible like "Ms. Norbury sells drugs."

And yes, I am a nearly-30-year-old woman relating my working life to a teen comedy starring Lindsay Lohan. It's a new low.