Coed Naked What?

This is a true story. I’ve changed the names (except for her middle name, which even she made fun of) to protect the two funny people who had this exchange.

They had a lot in common, though neither would ever admit it. 

She was Carmelita Immaculata Concepción Gonzalez Jones.  He was Juan Perez.

They were both software specialists: she an end-user application consultant, he a technical consultant. Their jobs were to provide customers with telephone support, and each felt the problem could always be placed at the doorstep of the other side. To her, it was never user error; it was always a technical issue with the software. To him, the software was perfect, if only the lame-brained customers would learn how to use it.

They were both Hispanic Americans: she of Cuban descent, he of Argentinian. They each claimed El Che, the "Guerrillero Heroico," as a native son of the homeland.

She spent much of her childhood living outside the US and spoke with a slight Spanish accent.  He’d grown up in the States and had no accent at all, but he took great delight in teasing her about hers by mimicking it. 

She was a fairly serious person, and generally not given to frivolous behavior. He was the department clown, and rarely suffered a serious moment.

They sat in adjacent cubicles. She wanted nothing to do with him, and nothing gave him greater pleasure than baiting her.

Their ongoing battle across the cubical wall was a great source of entertainment for everyone. Well, for everyone except Carmelita Immaculata Concepción Gonzalez Jones, perhaps.

***

Day 1 of the Apocalypse

He: “Hey, Carmelita. Did choo wash that game on TV last night?”

She: “What game? I didn’t see any game."

He: “It was on one of the es-spanish language channels. Late, around midnight, I thin.”

She: “No, I don’t watch TV that late. I rarely watch the Spanish language channels. And, for heaven's sake, stop talking like that.”

He: “Oh, choo missed a really gray game.”

She: “What was it?”

He: “Coed naked bolleyball.”

She: “What? Coed naked volleyball? They played naked volleyball on TV?”

He: “No, no, this was different. Coed naked bolleyball. Oh, chjess, gray game.”

She: “No. Go away. You’re an idiot.”

***

Day 2 of the Apocalypse

He: “Carmeleeeta…”

She: (sigh) “What?”

He:  “It was on again last night. It’s a tournament, I thin. The Coed Naked Bolleyball Tournament.”

She:  “No.”

He:  “Choo gotta es-see it. It’s awesome. Coed naked …”

She:  “Stop.”

He:  “But…”

She: (walks away)

***

Day 3 of the Apocalypse

He: “Oh, boy. ¡Ay caramaba! What a game that waz.

She: (menacingly) “Juan. Do. Not. Start.”

He: (innocently) “What?”

She: “You know what. Don’t do it.”

He: “Do what? I waz joos gonna …”

She: “Oh, I know what you ‘waz joos gonna’ do. Cut it out.”

He: “Huh? I waz joos gonna tell choo about the finale of the coed naked…”

She: “Stop!”

He: “But, the finale waz…”

She: “If you don’t stop this nonsense and leave me alone, it’s going to be the finale of you.” (leaves in high dudgeon)

***

The Finale of the Apocalypse… and Juan

He: (walking toward his desk) “Oh, Carmelita…” 

She: (sweetly) “Hello, Juan. How are you today?”

He: (throwing himself into his desk chair with his usual exuberance) "So last night... Ah, ah, ah... what the hell?"

She: (snicker)

 

She: (whispering) "Gotcha, amigo." 

He: “What the hell happened to my chair???”

She: "Sí, bery funny, Juan, don't choo thin?"

***

Remembered for The Tenth Daughter of Memory