Today, working with a different subset of the crew, I heard a little more which caused me to alter my view somewhat. I didn't have all the facts yesterday. I still don't have all the facts. I'm just a babbling idiot on the sidelines. So here goes.

If hearing these mundane tales motivates certain crack monkies out there to want to come to the deli and jump up and down, all the better.

I'll use the letter Y to refer to the individual who might be fired if she doesn't get her act together real soon.

Since Y was off again today, I didn't get to speak with her. But I did hear more angles from other second hand sources.

It seems that Y hadn't yet broken up with the now former boyfriend on the day the incident involving the police took place. She was most likely planning to, but according to my second source, it hadn't happened yet.

Apparently what did happen was this: the boyfriend showed up and started to pick a fight with another grocery store employee with whom Y was conversing. This was what caused a manager to call in the police, and have the boyfriend hauled away. Then the police interviewed Y, as well as the friend with whom she was talking.

It was after this took place that she officially broke up with him. Isn't that exciting, in an oh so high school soap opera kind of way?

Here's where it gets tricky though. Gossip gossip gossip. According to source #2, Y has historically been known to make flirtatious advances at various males, maneuver them into situations which involve conflict with one another, and watch the sparks fly. Cheap entertainment at the expense of her heartbroken lovestruck suitors. Naughty, naughty.

IF this is the case -- if this was not a personal crisis at all, but she was intentionally playing these guys into a fight for fun -- and if she's been casually blowing off her duty and honor in the ongoing holy struggle to keep the deli running smoothly, well then... I too would have to say fire her ass.

I imagine that the real truth lies somewhere between the two extremes.

It was also speculated that this little demoness of the deli might also be gradually drawing one of our own into her web of intrigue, deception, and tangled love triangles. Could it be that he with whom I worked last night, the first person to inform me of these shocking developments, might easily be next in line to sink his penis^H^H^H^H^H soul into the foul nether regions of her dark embrace?

One can only guess.

But another question comes to mind. This one is of greater relevance to me than any prior inquiries regarding these matters. Where am I in all of this?

Well, given the state of my current employment transitioning process, I'll probably be getting the hell away from all this insanity before long. How regrettable. Just as things were starting to heat up. (Or not, if she finds herself without a job before the end of the week.)

But still, that does not address the heart of the question. Where am I in all of this? Since it appears that a non-trivial portion of the males who come within her vicinity find themselves utterly smitten by the little harlot, am I to count myself among their number?

Well.... To answer that question to an extent which reaches beyond the true reality of the situation, I shall quote the character of Lester Burnham, played by Kevin Spacey, in the movie American Beauty. "I would be a very lucky man." (In this case, context is everything. And if you haven't seen the movie, I'm sorry. Go out and rent it right now.)

Though I would not deny that she is physically attractive, it didn't take more than 5 minutes after meeting the little songbird to realize that, although she is legally an adult, she has the emotional and behavioral vibe of a teenager. She felt like a little sister to me. I believe those were the words I used in documenting her first day. (But don't tell her I said that -- she'd be annoyed if anyone called her a little kid.)

Barring circumstances that are messed up in the extreme, you don't fuck your sister. You don't want to. You love her, but not in that way. (Although "love" would be too strong a word to use in this case, for somebody I've only known a month, and only gotten casually acquainted with. But I use it anyway to make the point.)

In rhetrospect, I can see that when we first started working together, she did make some gestures that could be interpreted as flirtatious. (i.e. Standing extremely close while talking, putting her hand on my arm, casually rubbing up against me while in close quarters. Relatively mild stuff.)

At the time, I chose not to classify these overtures as sexual in nature, because 1) I wasn't really wanting to get into that type of relationship with her, 2) I had seen her make similar moves around other guys, so I figured it was just her way of relating, 3) I've learned from past experience to be very leery of signals which might or might not mean sexual interest. In my experience, more often than not, it's turned out to be "not". So I take it all with a big grain of salt.

Before long, the pseudo-might-be-flirting stopped, and we got along just dandy working together in the deli.

Now, recalling these events with this new information in mind, I might hypothesise that in her world, virtually any guy could be a potential fun-toy victim. I would have been no exception. But when I did not respond, she gracefully backed off, and we had no problems.

Now sis has gone and gotten herself into more trouble. (Or maybe she's getting out of it by leaving the old asshole boyfrind behind. That's one thing everyone who's met him seems to agree on. That guy was a piece of scum.)

I know all I have is second hand knowledge, but my instinct about her says it fits. I know I should be angry that she's going around playing with the hearts of others of my kind. Heck, she probably would have done me a cruel number, had I been weaker and less mature.

But somehow, the only true conviction I can find within myself is the hope that lil sis doesn't go and get herself hurt too bad. I almost want to cry for her. Why, I can't quite say.

But what am I? It is her life, and she may live it as she chooses. I am but a spectator. A passing spectator, who will soon disappear.

Tomorrow I go to get my car tuned up. I need some sleep now.