Tranette was a big German lady with gale-force winds.
No, she wasn't flatulent.
When Tranette approached you or addressed you, it was always with an air of violence and force. Her voice boomed thunderously, and you felt as though you were one of those brave news anchors on CNN covering the latest hurricane, who are fighting to stand, walking into winds severe enough to bend STOP signs like plastic straws.
If Tranette asked you a question, it was always asked with a furious air of accusation.
For instance, if she said something as innocuous as "Have you seen my stapler?" she would say it as though it were the fourteenth time she had asked you this and you had rudely ignored her the other thirteen times.
Tranette believed that when one has a question, it is always better to interrogate than to simply ask.
Asking is for pussies.
I'm not sure whether this is a "German thing" or not, but I tend to think "No."
You know how cops play "Good Cop, Bad Cop" with suspects? Well, Tranette would have been perfect for the "Bad Cop" role. Criminals would have rolled over faster than Paris Hilton does for a Greek shipping heir.
I couldn't see inside Tranette's head, but I think the mental programming for Tranette's routine at work went something like this...
1. TYPE ORDERS INTO COMPUTER SCREEN.
2. DO I HAVE A QUESTION?
3. IF NO, GO TO LINE 5
4. IF YES, GO TO LINE 6
5. THIS IS PROBABLY A GOOD POINT TO POUND YOUR DESK. RETURN TO LINE 1.
6. INTERROGATE (DO NOT ASK) SOMEONE. RETURN TO LINE 1.
Because the other thing Tranette loved to do was to pound.
Every so often she would bring her meaty clenched right fist down on her desk with the force with which God probably struck out Adam when he made him on an anvil or whatever divine workspace divinities use.
THWANNNNG!!!
Because Tranette's big gray metal desk had the acoustics of the Boston Philharmonic's bass drums, we all got to enjoy this dozens of time a day. No matter where we were in the office.
"Where's the rest of the orchestra?" I once shouted pissily when she made me spill half the tea from my cup.
Tranette sat at her computer all day handling our international accounts.
She was chosen for her gift with tongues. Tranette was able to alienate and infuriate clients in at least five languages.
Tranette seemed sad and unfulfilled. Speculation was that she really wanted to have a job that would maximize her talents: pounding, intimidating loud speech, and a bearlike strength.
Everyone was certain this was professional wrestling.
If Tranette sang that song from The Sound of Music, "My Favorite Things," she would sing about "pounding" and "decibels" and "attitude." Oh, and "stress."
Tranette loved stress the way beagles love rabbits.
There was never an unstressful day for Tranette.
We all said, "She's going to have a heart attack!" But she didn't. Her skinny, healthy diet husband had it for her.
"A feeble attempt at escape," we snickered around the office. Because he lived.
When the poor man finally dies in earnest, the obvious choice for a Shakespearean epitaph would actually be a celebrated Shakespearean stage direction: "EXIT, PURSUED BY A BEAR."
We met the man on a few occasions where he stopped by the office to bring something to Tranette. He seemed nice. The perfect victim for Tranette. He was about a hundred pounds lighter than her and about a hundred decibels quieter.
This enfeebled appurtenance of a husband gave Tranette a License to Kill. Suddenly, she realized she could do or say any monstrous thing around the office and get away with it. And this suited her temperament perfectly. By way of excuse, she would simply boom, "I have to get home to husband. He is nearly die! Don't have time for this!"
Once Tranette picked me up and removed me from where I was standing in front of the copy machine trying to adjust the size for my copies, and set me down several feet away.
I am not a small man.
"Don't have time this now" was I believe the furious explanation she muttered as she removed my document from the Xerox machine with the same ease with which she had just removed me from the Xerox machine.
I believe Tranette saw people as talking lumber.
We were just these planks of humanity that she sometimes found in her path, and she had no problem kicking or throwing us out of the way while talking to us in the same way one talks to an inanimate object upon which one has just stubbed one's toe.
One curses it.
We were just Tranette's stubbies.
We gave her stubbies. She gave us decibels and discomfort.
Tranette had no sense of humor whatsoever.
This is funny, because she actually brought much mirth to the workforce through both her complete lack of manners, her ursine nature, and through her bag.
What could possibly be so funny about a woman's bag?
Well, Tranette had the ugliest bag I have ever seen in my life.
This bag was legendary because Tranette repeatedly told everybody that she paid four hundred dollars for it online.
It was a hideous black rubber bag that appeared to have been made from recycled tires. It had these spikes about seven inches long (in the same black color and material) that resembled Madonna's cone breasts. These weird black spikes stuck out all over its surface.
That bag looked like the AIDS virus.
It was large enough to carry several babies in, and Tranette always had to leave it in plain view and close to her, because she was convinced this was the most envy-inspiring haute couture accessory anybody on the planet could possibly own.
She believed people wanted to steal it.
We wanted to burn it.
She talked about that bag more than she did her husband. Tranette had not whelped cubs, so possibly the world will be much quieter one day.
While I no longer work with Tranette, I still think about her sometimes.
Like when I see one of those woodchippers you feed branches into (or arms and legs and torsos if you're a serial killer).
Or during Hurricane season. Hurricanes always remind me of Tranette.
And that Werner Herzog documentary about grizzlies.
I think Tranette might find a connection if she checks some of those grizzly family trees.
She should check.
She might be in line to inherit a cave or something.
And you should check.
Because if you don't, the government gets it or something.
And nobody wants that.
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