Russ and the Staring Game

I have already relocated myself to the most remote cubicle in the name of "being closer to a window." There isn't much more I can do, other than construct a door, to remove myself from the main path of travel in this office. I am happiest when I manage to make it through an entire day without seeing any of my coworkers.

Russ, however, will find a way to walk by. And when she walks by, she will stare. Don't get me wrong, I understand basic social interactions. I know that society requires me to look up from my email in the morning and smile at this woman, as if I have not just seen her the very day before.

But this is not the reason Russ stares. I can tell by the blank look on her face that she isn't staring in hopes of interacting with me. She isn't even aware that I am on the other side of her gaze seeing her staring at me. She is staring as a child stares at a passing ice cream truck, simply to observe an object of interest. I am not an object, Russ. I see you staring at me.

One day it was so unbelievably awkward and long, that I was forced to say, "What?" I was expecting something along the lines of, "Did you fix your hair differently?" But alas, this question was met with a continued blank stare and then she was gone.