And now, by popular demand, a Wookie story.

I have probably mentioned this before, but it is worth mentioning again just in case because it is quite relevant to the story. The Wookie is not only very hairy, but she's also (according to her) very frail. Hypochondriac is more the appropriate term, if you ask me, but that's beside the point. She claims she is allergic to a lot of things -- including certain food additives, hand lotion, perfume, and smoke. Judging by her appearance, she must also be allergic to soap. Yes. Ew.

That being said, I will first share with you what she had for lunch yesterday, as witnessed by a horrified co-worker of mine who then had to come tell me about it: Chef Boyardee ravioli with popcorn on top. I'm still shaking my head over that one.

Anyway, some time last week I was at my desk talking to Mark. I think it was actually work-related for once, which is amazing in and of itself. So we're standing there, and all of a sudden we hear a sound that quite resembled the Pamplona Encierro. (The Running of the Bulls for you uncultured twits.) We turn around and see the Wookie go running down the hall, through the kitchen, and to her desk. As she was running, she had her right hand planted on her neck.

Mark and I looked at each other with bemused confusion, and I said, "I need to find out. I'm going to regret it, but I need to find out."

So I went in the direction from which the Wookie came, which was our Publishing Department. Apparently, this woman over there named Cheryl touched the Wookie's hand after applying hand lotion to herself. This is what caused the Wookie to run away in a panic. As far as I have learned, the Wookie did not actually get any lotion on herself whatsoever. She simply knew Cheryl used it and reacted accordingly.

I know what you're thinking, and I was thinking the same exact thing: "It puts the lotion in the basket or it gets the hose again."

As utterly disturbing as this is, I'm a pretty rational guy. I know this woman (thing? it?) is insane, and I accept that. But as I strolled back to my desk to let Mark know what had happened, my mind started to wonder. She ran from the Publishing Department and past my desk, where there is a door leading out into the lobby where the bathrooms are. If she was truly having an allergic reaction to lotion, she could have gone there to wash her hands. But she didn't. Also, she ran through the kitchen/break room. There's a sink there, where she could have washed her hands. But she didn't. Instead, she just ran back to her desk.

My guess is that she needed to be in her "safe, happy place" after being "traumatized" by the lotion.

And these are the kinds of people I work with. Actually, I won't even say I work with them, because I don't. They're in different departments. I just get to observe, but that's scary enough.