Ermatrude is the 100,000 year old secretary whose desk is on the north side of my cubicle (remember, Francis the Farter is to the south). First, let's consider Erm's appearance. I have no idea how old she really is, but her teeth and hair suggest ancient. She usually pulls her hair back in a sort of French twist/bouffant style and secures it with a butterfly clip. This is no ordinary clip--definitely not like those little plastic butterflies that are pastel and covered in glitter and all the rage circa 1996 (see image above...no idea what kind of poor animal that is). No, Erm's butterfly is of the highest artisan standards, probably made by Mr. Cartier himself. Her hair is actually quite miraculous as well. Thin as it is, she somehow manages to puff it to almost skyscraper heights and hold it there with what must be the hairspray of the gods. However, Erm's teeth are a little less than stellar. Think: British. Or at least very old, and very...not white. She also has the horrible habit of standing EXTREMELY close when having a conversation with you, and I always find that my eyes are inexplicably drawn towards her chompers. Remember in elementary school when you had long conversations about respecting the personal space of your classmates? Erm never got that lesson. I mean, it makes sense...she was probably born before schools were invented. She may have actually been the first person on earth. Erm is married to Stan and they were blessed with two strapping sons, both of whom have moved out of town. Erm and Stan meet for lunch at the nearby Arby's almost every day. He usually calls late in the morning to discuss their lunch plans and decide what they will eat. I am the kind of person who goes into a restaurant not knowing what I will have (unless it is Chipotle). But no, Erm and Stan plan their meals well in advance. When they walk through that door, they KNOW whether they are getting curly fries or straight fries, roast beef or chicken fingers. But maybe this is part of their elderly and slightly out-of-the-ordinary lifestyle. You see, I think that Stan might be in the Greek mafia. Erm is always talking about how he is from Greece and very proud of his heritage. He has stopped in a couple of times, and by no means is he the stooped, frail old man I had first pictured. He is huge, bald, and wears tinted glasses, gold necklaces, and purple jogging suits. Ermatrude tends to wear jogging suits too (on casual Fridays) which totally clash with the immaculate bouffant on top of her head.
Erm's job is simple: answer the phone when it rings. Welcome guests to the office and page the person they are here to see. Sounds simple enough, right? Well, Ermatrude has her own special way of doing things. The phone will ring and ring and ring but if she is talking on her cell phone, that takes precedence. Her ringtone is actually the same one that I use, which is a little nerve wracking when I am using the copier in the mailroom and hear the familiar jingle blaring throughout the entire first floor. As for the second part of Erm's position, every time someone walks through the door she basically forces them to sign their name and life purpose in this skinny white binder. I think it is the Greek influence shining through. I can understand this for workers or whatever, but I mean everyone must sign in. My dad stopped by once to drop off a letter for me, and Erm forced him to sign in, even though my cubicle is literally six paces from the front door and I was standing there to greet him. And Erm gave him the same speech she gives every poor soul: "I'm going to need you to sign in. It's something we've been doing ever since 9-11, you know. [Tone suggests she has already deduced that the intruder is indeed a terrorist.] And we wouldn't want you to get lost [creepy chuckle]." If that isn't frightening, I don't know what is.
Besides her general flightiness and tendency to invade personal space, Ermatrude is pretty harmless. She doesn't do anything that a normal secretary would do, but she is certainly entertaining. I wouldn't want to cross her bad side though...no doubt Stan would feed me to the fishes. I can only hope that one day, my hair looks as utterly fantastic in all its poofyness as hers does. I'll only have to wait 999,978 more years.
UPDATE: Janie just reminded me that at the seminar in Dallas in February, Ermatrude stole a bottle of wine from one of the other gals who works here. Apparently it was a bottle of really nice red wine left over from Leslie's wedding last fall. I don't remember the exact reason whyyyy Erm was in Leslie's room, but needless to say everyone came back and there was Erm. With the wine. In her stomach.
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