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Last week, maybe, or the week before that -- recently anyway -- bossman let slip a secret about a coworker (we'll call her S). He didn't know he was letting the cat out of the bag -- he specifically said to me after the proclamation, "Oh. I though it was common knowledge." I wasn't necessarily surprised at being in the dark; my office isn't known for camaraderie.
For example, S recently got engaged to her long-time boyfriend. The only reason I know this is because I was in the lunchroom when she announced to people in her department that she was going to such-and-such a place to scope it out as a reception site. After she left, I shyly inquired if she was getting married. (S has probably never said a word to moi that wasn't instigated by moi, so I wasn't going to ask her and be wrong.) Upon an affirmative answer and finding myself in the kitchen with her a few days later, each of us cutting an apple as a snack, I offered congratulations and chit-chatted politely about guest list conundrums and time lines.
Fast forward a few weeks to me in bossman's office. I'm working on a project that he wants S to proofread, so he asks me to coordinate with her. "Blah blah blah instructions blah blah. You do know S is pregnant, right?" "No! How exciting!" Well, what followed was not joyous exaltations but a lecture on irresponsible parenting and the merits of eloping as well as a demand to "explain it to me; it's your generation." Um. Not exactly the conversation I relish having with my employer. Although I was glad he said it to me and not S.
So now, I have a choice to make. I can either do as with the proposal situation: ask for confirmation and then offer congratulations. Or I can just go to S directly and gush. Or I can go with my gut instinct: this was not common knowledge and I am now the only person not connected with payroll who knows S is pregnant. Which means that she isn't likely to welcome me squealing over her situation. Okay. I'll wait until she makes the announcement herself, when she has to start wearing maternity pants and people are starting to look at her sideways.
Which of course I'm already doing. I watch her walk to her cubicle and stare at her midsection, trying to guess if she's got a rubberband around the button of her jeans yet. I notice half pint containers of milk in the refrigerator and smile that she's taking her and baby's health seriously. I try to gauge whether she's coughing less than usual, perhaps signifying she's quit smoking. I bring up the wedding a couple of times, asking about her dress, silently inviting a confidential admission. I even get out my calendar and count backwards from September (when the wedding is) to see if I can reasonably guess a rough due date.
But I tell nobody except for Bill, who's never met S and isn't likely to, given the existence (or rather, nonexistence) of her and my close personal friendship.
Now here's me this morning, in the middle of work: I'm snorting I'm laughing so hard. Bosslady (S's direct boss) comes out of her office to ask me in whispers, "Did bossman tell you S is pregnant?" Yes, I say. But quickly add that I figured he wasn't actually supposed to tell, so I haven't said anything to anyone. She continues to whisper that S was never pregnant, that she was joking with S about it being a shot-gun wedding since September seemed fast-approaching, that bossman overheard the joke and took it seriously, that S is notpregnant. "Thank god the buck stops with you," she whispers while we're laughing.
And that's why you never spread rumors.
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