I Judge

It’s 10:30 on a Monday and I just passed a woman in the hall I’ve passed a million times before. She’s pretty ordinary. I think she’s pretty high up in this company too, probably in her early 40s and wears a wedding band. She’s always pleasant, always smiles. However in all those times passing her I never noticed that she REEKS of booze. She said “hi” to me just now and I swear that had I been holding a flame (you know, recreating the Olympic torch run or something) she would have spewed forth a ball of fire that surely would have taken out the entire fourth floor.

But, who am I to judge?

You know what? I type that into my blog a lot, “Who am I to judge?” when clearly I am judging. As a single woman with no real stresses in life except the usual paying the mortgage, worrying for my family’s well-being and getting fired for blogging all day, who AM I to judge this woman?

Maybe she had a “working” breakfast and her clients drink Jack Daniels straight so she did too. Or maybe she had some awful traumatic event happen to her last night and so she decided to drown her sorrows. Or hell, maybe she finds that her morning cup of coffee tastes better and wakes her up perkier with a snort of whiskey. Of course maybe she
has a hard life or is really stressed out at work or having problems in her marriage or is living in the closet. But you want to know the real reason I judge? Because I have nothing else to do.