The Plain Blonde who Plays Along With You

There was a young mechanic that worked at Lance during the terrible period in which I worked there. All of my co-workers lusted after him; he was handsome, quiet, and did his work very well without drama. I wasn't particularly attracted to him, but he was nice and seemed interested in me. He used to flirt with me during our conversations, which was flattering, and sometimes I would flirt back. This incensed Slim, a very skinny older co-worker. 

Slim had worked at this company for many years. She probably weighed 80 lbs. soaking wet and sported a hairnet over the cloth turban she wore everyday. She was the "elder" of the Lance production line tribe. All of the women on the production line deferred to her.

One evening, the mechanic spent about 30 minutes hanging around my machine talking to me. Slim stared at us with a comical frown on her face. At break time, she sidled up to me at the vending machine and tapped me on my shoulder. I smiled and greeted her.

"Hi, Slim. How are you doing today?". 

Slim peered into my eyes. "Girl, why are you flirting with that boy?", she sternly queried.

She stood in front of me with her hands on her hips, her head cocked quizzically.

I was surprised at her question. You needed permission to flirt? What the hell?

"Well, he was flirting with me and he's a nice guy. What difference does it make? He's not married and I'm not married, so I'm just trying to be nice".

 I was only 21 years old at the time and had not had a boyfriend to speak of yet. 

Slim looked sadly at me and shook her head. Her bony finger pointed at my face. 

She whispered, "You're way too plain for a good-looking man like him. He needs a pretty girl, not a heifer. No offense."

I looked at her astonished and chuckled. Heifer? Really?

She had always been nice to me until then. I thought it was ironic that a wizened, bony old woman with maybe 4 teeth in her head considered me to be "plain". I was amused at her assessment. My sense of self was still pretty strong despite being constantly at battle with my ego. I wasn't a super model, but I wasn't plain, either.

"Slim, I own a mirror. I know what I look like; I don't need you or anyone else to tell me. Mind your own business." , I replied, amused.

I looked impassively at her, not wanting to start a fight, but also not wanting to put up with any bullshit, either.

She stalked off back to the machine she was supposed to be running. Slim never spoke to me again in my last 6 months at that job. I would get eye daggers whenever I talked to the mechanic, though. These looks didn't kill though; they merely kicked you in the shins when you didn't expect it. The whole episode was a funny anecdote during a trying period in my life.