You Are The Reason Everyone Hates Going To Work

Ah, work. We spend most of our waking hours there, slaving away for the security of a paycheck. And many of us, undoubtedly, hate our jobs. I am mostly speaking to those who are employed by some sort of outside company. If you are self employed, this is probably not much of an issue, because you are your own boss and presumably like what you do, or are so strung out on crack that you don't really care. And come on, how hard is it to give blowjobs at $20 a pop? Putting the new cover sheet on TPS reports is much harder.

So, most of us spend most of our time at our jobs, surrounded by our co-workers for nine hours a day, for (according to my highly scientific calculations) 261 days a year, not counting leave and holidays. We get to know each other, to know each other's quirks and likes and dislikes and who likes to eat disgusting things like ramen noodles mixed with tuna fish. It's almost like we are a family. And, like any family, there can be a great deal of dysfunction in any work environment. So today, we are going to discuss ways to make your relationship with your co-workers run more smoothly. In other words, how not to be the Office Dick, the person everyone hates.

Let's start with something very simple: your physical appearance. No, I'm not talking about whether or not you wear makeup and I don't care if you are wearing ratty jeans and a shirt with a picture of a naked woman on it. Does not bug me at all. What does bug me, though, is when you wear clothes that are too small for you. Like, you have a big fat stomach than hangs 6 inches below the waist of your pants, yet you decide, for some unknown reason, to wear a shirt that only goes 3 inches below your pants. So the rest of us, for the whole day, are subjected to your stomach flab, dangling from under your shirt. We are all afraid that you have the albino Blob in your pants and it's trying to escape and eat us. Also, no matter how young and thin and cute you are (or think you are), there is no excuse for coming to work looking like you are going to a club. Mini skirts, skin tight pants, hooker heels, and super tight, cleavage revealing shirts are not only against the dress code, they make you look like you are trying to pick up your co-workers. And really, who wants that?

Closely related to the issue of appearance is the issue of smell. Yes, the way you smell. Please, for the love of all that is holy, take a shower every day. Use deodorant. Brush your freaking teeth. And don't douse yourself in perfume or cologne. Yes, a little can be nice, but a lot makes it seem like you are walking around with a noxious cloud of stench following you. Also on the scent front, let's discuss other smelly things that everybody except you hates. For example, you may think that your coconut-scented room spray is to die for and decide that it would be wonderful to spray it all over your cubicle, but everyone else that has to smell it is fantasizing about squirting you in the eyes with that spray and then shoving the bottle up your ass. Or when you make your oh-so-delicious broccoli and cheese meal in the communal microwave, I know you think it's the best thing ever, but everyone else thinks it smells like vomit.

You don't even want to know what we think of you when you burn your popcorn.

Don't talk on your cell phone while you are using the bathroom. It's just disturbing. Also, if you happen to "drip" please please please PLEASE clean it up before you leave the stall. That especially goes for you women on your freaking periods! And don't talk to other people over the stalls, especially if you are not good friends with them. Some of us would like to pee in peace, without your play-by-play recap of what you had for lunch or of the cute guy you met this weekend.

WASH YOUR FUCKING HANDS WHEN YOU ARE DONE.

Unless you are my boss, please do not try to tell me what to do or how to do it. I know my job and if I need help, I will ask for it. You do not need to volunteer your services. I don't care if you have worked here almost as long as I have been alive, I don't need you sending me "helpful" emails or writing me notes pointing out how I could do things different. Please, keep your vast stores of knowledge to yourself.

Don't touch other people's personal property without permission. You need a pen or a stapler? Go right ahead. But keeps your damn hands off my pictures and knickknacks. In fact, unless we are friends, there is no reason for you to be hanging over my desk, talking to me, period. I will happily discuss work-related issues with you. But I do not care what you did this weekend, what you are eating for lunch or what new book you read. I am not going to answer your questions about my personal life. And I definitely do not want to look at pictures of your cats or your vacation or your new house or your kids. In fact, some people should really just learn to shut up all together. When you are talking to people, if they refuse to make eye contact with you, pretend that they can't hear you, or just plain ignore you...those are all warning signs that you are boring and no one likes you. So rather than preying on poor defenseless people who are too polite to tell you to go away, why not take it upon yourself and just shut the fuck up?

Please, please, have something interesting to talk about besides your children. Yes, if you are a new parent or if you have small children, fine, we understand that your children are fascinating. But if your youngest child is 17 and they are still the only thing you ever talk about...well, you seriously need a life.

Don't carry on loud personal phone calls all damn day. If you don't want to work, fine. No one cares. Mess around on the internet, play Solitaire, paint your toe nails, whatever. But when your not-working interferes with my working, then it becomes an issue. It's hard to concentrate when there is someone just a few feet away blabbering on the phone all the time. And especially don't get into arguments on the phone. I'm sorry if your spouse/kids/family/attorney/kid's school/place that you bought your new dishwasher/etc is pissing you off, but if you must yell at them, please take your phone call into the breakroom. Don't yell on the phone. And keep your voice down. We don't all need to know the details of your personal life.

Don't talk in stupid, affected voices that aren't natural to you. No one likes a grownup who talks "baby talk" when there is no actual baby in the immediate vicinity.

Please, do not sing at your desk. Especially if you can't actually sing. And you're wearing headphones, and can't hear how horrible you sound. And people who are guilty of whistling in an office should be taken outside and shot without trial. Do wear your headphones when you are listening to music or a video. No one else wants to listen to the collected hits of Vanilla Ice. And keep your cell phone on vibrate, especially if you are leaving your desk.

Don't be a mooch. If I say you can have one of my tissues once, that does not mean that I am your tissue source for the rest of your natural life. Get your lazy, cheapskate ass to the store and buy some yourself. And don't constantly ask everyone, "Where are you going to lunch today?" and then expect them to bring you food. If you're not smart or capable enough to bring your own lunch, then it is your responsibility to find your own food, unless the other person offers.

I don't care what religion you are, but I don't want to hear about it at work. And I especially do not want you trying to convert me. Do not offer to bring me a pamphlet on the bible, or invite me to church with you, and I will refrain from sharing my views on religion with you. Which should make you happy, because I'm sure you wouldn't like them.

If you need something work related from me, even if we are not friends, please just come and ask. It makes things harder for everyone when you refuse to do your job correctly. But, even if we don't like each other, there is no reason not to be polite. Throwing a paper onto my desk and demanding that I give you the file is not going to win you any points.

Basically, it boils down to manners. Not the "keep a napkin in your lap and don't slurp your soup" kind, but the "make other people feel comfortable and don't be an asshole" kind. Don't be a jerk to me and I won't be one to you and we can all get along fine and do our jobs and go home without wanting to kill each other with machetes. And that, really, is what going to work is all about.

The Route #6 Bus Goes Straight To Hell...20 Minutes Late

So, in an effort to help save the planet (and save my wallet) I have been taking the bus to and from work for the past week. At first, I was pretty scared--I haven't taken a bus since I was in middle school, and the people that you see waiting at bus stops are usually pretty creepy--but a friend convinced me to give it a try. She said that the buses were clean, there were no creepy people on the commuter routers, and it would give me a good chance to read. Since I am firmly in favor of cleanliness and reading, and very much against creepiness, I decided to be adventurous and to do it.

And it's been going well! Sure, there are some creepy people, but not as many as you would expect, since I think all of the really creepy ones are still sleeping off their hangovers at 7:30 a.m. (There is one woman on the bus that I ride in the afternoon that is not so much creepy as just nasty. She's humongously fat, like a walking bowling ball, with tiny little feet, and either her pants are too tight, or her legs are just disgusting, because the tops of her pant legs look like she has tons and tons kleenex stuffed in them. I think someone should buy her a mumu. Maybe I will try to organize a bus Christmas gift exchange and get her one. She sat next to me yesterday, and I was afraid that I was going to get eaten by her blobbishness, and all anyone would ever find of me would be my shoes, left on the floor of the bus.)

So anyways, things have been going well on the bus. I've learned my route, I've found the closest stop to my house, I haven't been late to work yet...everything's been great! So I should have suspected that it was too good to last. And, if I had suspected that, today I would have been proved right.

Not that this is anything new, but I was in a terrible mood this morning to begin with. Amazing, isn't it? Because I am normally just a total ray of sunshine! But not this morning. This morning, there was a giant black cloud floating over my head, just like in a cartoon, complete with miniature rain and lightning storm. This was, naturally, because I didn't get enough sleep. The kid decided that 4 to 6 a.m. would be a great time to talk about her day, how weird her dreams are, about how she picked up a cockroach by accident...the sort of stuff that everyone wants to talk about from 4 to 6 a.am instead of sleeping.

So anyways, I was sleepy and grumpy (and dopey) this morning, but I dragged myself out of bed, showered, brushed my teeth, all the normal stuff, and walked my tired ass down to the bus stop. I will now give you a minute-by-minute breakdown of what happened next:

• 7:15--Arrive at bus stop. Lean back against pole holding big blue and red sign that says "The Bus Stops Here" and "Route #6" and wait.
• 7:16-7:24--Continue to wait for bus, while watching how crazily people drive and being glad that I don't have to suffer road rage from driving with them.
• 7:25--See #6 bus pull onto street and start heading towards me. Bus does not appear to be slowing, so I wave at it to get the driver's attention.
• 7:26--Watch bus drive right past me without stopping.
• 7:27--Stare helplessly after quickly disappearing bus.
• 7:27-7:35--Race my ass down the street to the big bus station, where I know there is another bus that heads to the same general area that I want to go to.
• 7:35-7:40--Stand outside of parked bus while bus driver wanders around the station.
• 7:40-8:10 (and bear in mind that I am supposed to be to work at 8:00)--Take different bus in the general direction of my work, but by a much different route. Instead of driving through nice residential neighborhoods, with schools and houses all around, we went down Central, which is one of the nastiest, creepiest streets in the whole city. There were tons of creepy people on this bus.
• 8:10-8:20--Take a second bus to my work, arriving 20 minutes late.

As you can see from the above chart, I did not have a good morning. And frankly, I am reconsidering my decision to ride the bus. Creepy people are one thing...creepy people and being late for work...it was a bit much for me. But of course, I have to ride it home this afternoon. So when I see that bus driver, I think I am going to kill him by stuffing my bus pass down his throat. Or maybe I will wait until after I get off and then call the cops and report a drunken bus driver. Then at least he will have an excuse for not picking me up.

How To Go Postal In 20 Minutes Or Less!

I finally have a referent for the phrase "going postal." And it came, unsurprisingly, courtesy of the US Postal Service.

I had ordered the first season of Burn Notice (which is, by the way, a great show. The new season starts July 10...you should check it out!) from Amazon a couple of weeks ago, and it was supposed to be delivered on June 23. So I was very excitedly tracking it online every day, to see how much closer it was. (It ended up sitting in Denver for nearly a week...stupid Denver.) And on June 23, I couldn't wait to get home and open my package!

Alas, it was not to be. I got home to an empty mailbox, an empty porch, no sign of the ever-cheerful Amazon box with its little smiley face. So I was disappointed, but I figured that it would definitely arrive the next day. And sure enough, the next day when I did the online tracking, it showed that my package had arrived in town the day before. However, it also showed that a "delivery attempt" had been made at 3:00 on June 23, but there was no one home. Which is total bullshit. My husband was home all day, and had anyone knocked, he would have heard it. So I knew right then that they were lying.

The website also said that since delivery had been "attempted," a little orange slip would have been left at my door, telling me when to expect a second delivery attempt. Which was also bullshit. So I decided to call the Post Office's Customer Service number, to find out what had become of my package.

I picked the number that specifically said it was for Tracking and Confirmation, since that seemed like the most logical place to start. I had my tracking number ready, called the number I had found...and got to talk to a computer.

It wasn't just one of those that gives you your menu options and you get to hit #1 for English, or whatever. No, this was one of those computers that pretends it's a person, the kind that says things like "What can I help you with today?" or "I'm sorry, I didn't understand that." Because of course you have to talk to it.

Now, I am not a big talker. Sure, I talk to my friends, or to people that I hope will give me money. But talking to strangers is not one of my favorite pastimes. Talking to computers that are pretending to be fully conscious human beings, when in fact they are even stupider than most of the people I am forced to see on a daily basis (and that's really saying something, because most of the people I see on a daily basis have the intelligence of bread. Really really stupid bread. In fact, listening to the people at my work causes my IQ to drop at least 3 points a day) does not make me happy at all.

So I was already not a happy camper, even though the phone call had just started. But it got worse. I followed the voice prompts, actually talking to the stupid computer since I had no other choice, and got to a place where I could enter my tracking number. I did so, and was told that "No information is available at this time." That, of course, just made my blood pressure rise even more. And I determined that the computer would unable to help me and I needed to talk to an actual human being. So I started hunting through the voice prompts for that option.

What an idiot I am! I should have known that it would not be that easy. Those computer phone systems are designed to carefully shield the human workers from the actual customers. So the stupid computer would ask me something, such as "Would you like to order postal products?" and I would say "Customer Service," or "Talk to a person," and that annoyingly cheerful voice (which is all the more annoying by its very inability to convey emotion. If I am annoyed, I want the person on the other end of the phone to be annoyed, too. But that stupid computer phone voice bitch just kept being perky.) kept saying "I'm sorry, that is not an option" or some stupid shit like that. Or I wouldn't say anything, but the idiot computer would mistake the sound of me breathing for an answer, so it would switch me into a different menu.

I spent 20 minutes trying to get around that evil phone system. 20 minutes!! 20 minutes of my life, stolen by the US Postal Service and their evil, incredibly stupid but oh-so-perky phone voice woman! I was ready to kill her by the time I got through to an actual human, ready to wrap the phone cord around her neck and just squeeeeeze very slowly, while she said, in that relentlessly cheerful voice, "I'm sorry, that is not an option at this time!" And then she would die, and lay lifeless on the floor, and I would stab her repeatedly with my letter opener, and I would feel so much better!

So eventually, it all worked out. Despite the phone voice woman's efforts, I was eventually able to get an actual human, who told me where I could pick up my package, and I did, and the DVDs are great, just like I knew they would be. So it's okay, it's fine, I no longer feel homicidal, which I'm sure makes everyone who knows me feel better. But my ordeal has caused me to have a new and greater understanding of how someone could go into a Post Office and kill everyone with a shot gun. Except, when I do it, I'm going to use a rocket launcher. And I'm going after the phone banks first.

Happy Stupid Day!

So, was yesterday today National Stupid Day, and nobody bothered to tell me? Because that's what it seems like. I encountered scores of idiots yesterday. I swear, one of these days, the massive amount of stupidity that I have to deal with is going to drive me insane, and I am either going to have an aneurysm, or I am going to start killing people with a machete. I know which one I think would be more fun.

Seriously, though, people just love to drive me crazy. As always, my elevator-ific seat at work was a constant source of joy. This really really really (did I say really) annoying woman, who ALWAYS wants to talk to me, though I have made it clear many times that I am not the talkative type, decided that this time, since I had headphones on and obviously couldn't hear her (it apparently never occurs to people that I can hear them just fine, I just like to use the headphones as an excuse to ignore them), she would pound on my desk until I was forced to look at her. That's right! She pounded on my desk with her fist until I turned to look at her. And then said "Hi!" with a nice cheery smile, and walked away. I would have loved to follow her and strangle her with my headphone cord but, unfortunately, killing stupid people is still illegal in most states.

Then, I had this wonderful, enlightening experience. I had sent a file back to one of the other workers at my office, with a note asking her to correct a mistake she had made. The mistake was on parts 6, 7, and 8 so, on my note, I put to correct #6-#8. Now, as a normal human being (if, indeed, you are a normal human being) what does that mean to you? It means #6 through #8, yes? Not #6 and #8. But #6 and #8 is exactly what she fixed, totally ignoring #7. I am amazed that she is actually able to walk erect.

Then, of course, there were other, incidental annoyances. The supervisor from another department who asked me to do something for her while I was on my lunch break, and when I refused (pointing to the giant pink sign hanging from my monitor that says "BREAK"), gave me a look like a dead fish, all bulging eyes and O mouth. Or the mere sight of the anorexic woman. She looks like a starving 10 year old boy--no boobs, no butt, nothing but bones, a concave stomach, and weird spiky hair. (Personally, I think she should come as an Ethiopian for Halloween--all she would need is some flies to buzz around her eyes, and maybe one of those tall sticks.)

But, by far, the worst example of stupidity that I saw all day was driving home (big surprise, isn't it?) First, it took me a good 10 minutes to get on the freeway, because right past the on-ramp, a garbage truck had gotten into an accident with a pickup truck, and they were blocking off one of the lanes. Yes, you read that right. A big, blue, stinky, garbage truck. What the hell it was doing on the freeway at all is beyong me. I really think that large vehicle like that should be confined to regular streets, because when I'm blowing down the freeway at 75 mph, the last thing I want is to get stuck behind a slow, hulking thing like that. And then, once I managed to get off the freeway (without colliding with a garbage truck) I had this experience. Twice, within half a mile of each other. Both times, someone was trying to make a left-hand turn across traffic. They thought they had an opening, so they pulled out into the next lane, but then they realized that they didn't have time to make it. So then they just sat there, blocking the lane, forcing traffic to slow or swerve. Twice!!

And people wonder why I want a rocket launcher on my car!

Good or Bad?

Hello, all my little flying monkeys! So glad to see you again, I hope you are doing well! I have missed you so much since the last time we spoke!

Okay, enough of that crap.

Today, we are going to talk about things that should be good, but turn out not to be, for various reasons, illustrated by two examples from my own recent life.

The first example is ice cream. Now, I love ice cream. It is one of the best inventions ever, right behind hot showers, Coca-Cola, and vibrators. But the other day, I discovered how ice cream can be bad. The Dark Side of Ice Cream, if you will. This is what happened: There was an ice cream sale at work, so of course, I went to buy something. The ice cream was in a little electric-powered freezer. There were fudgesicles, which looked awfully appetizing, so I got one. Went back to my desk, unwrapped my fudgesicle, popped it in my mouth...and discovered that the freezer was apparently set too cold. Have you ever stuck your tongue on a freezing pole in winter, and it gets stuck, and you have to rip the skin (or whatever it is) off your tongue to get free? Well, that is exactly what it was like, only chocolate flavored. And it wasn't just my tongue, but my lips, too. Once I got free and began to actually eat my ice cream (after I let it melt a little, just to be sure we wouldn't have a repeat of the tongue-ripping) I began to see little red streaks against the brown of the chocolate. Yes, it was blood. A nice bloody, chocolate ice cream bar. Yum.

My second example of good things gone bad comes from this weekend. My husband and I actually had an overnight babysitter for our daughter, something that hasn't happened in more than a month, so we decided to take advantage of it by going to the movies. And, since the house would be kid-free, I figured we would have some adult-oriented extracurricular activities when we got home, so I decided to dress cute. Make up, jewelry, low-cut shirt, sparkly silver shoes, the works. So that was great, I looked hot, everything was fine...until I was standing in line at the concession stand at the theatre, trying to get some popcorn. I was next in line, behind an old man who told the popcorn worker that he wanted "new popcorn, and make sure you stuff it in good." That right there should have warned me. But there I stood, waiting patiently, watching the popcorn, when the old man turned to me, looked me up and down, and said, "Nice shoes." I turned to him, eyebrow raised, and said, "Thanks," and then turned away. A clear "Don't talk to me anymore" signal, if every I've heard of one. But he was not deterred. He moved so he could see my face again, looked down at my cleavage, and said "Nice shirt!" with a dirty-old-man smile on his face. Needless to say, I didn't thank him this time. I gave him a dirty look and proceeded to ignore him, my sexiness ruined.

So we see that even things we think of as good can be bad, under the right circumstances. The lessons I have learned from these two situations are, 1) let your ice cream melt a little before you stick it in your mouth, and 2) carry pepper spray to get rid of nasty old men that are looking down your shirt.

Liars and Lunch

Man, weathermen (or would that be "weatherpeople"? Or I guess I could say "meteorologist," but that sounds like way too fancy a title for an idiot that stands in front of a green screen and waves his arms like a ninny.) are such liars. Even though it was 60 degrees yesterday afternoon, they promised us snow last night. But did they deliver? Of course not. There was not a drop of precipitation during the night. Bunch of damn lying bastards!

Not that it matters anyway, I guess. Even if it snowed, I would still have had to come to work. The Head Honcho of monkey-work central would demand it. Hell, we could have a raging blizzard, 2 feet of snow, and the HH would probably get a snow mobile and drive to every employee's house to pick them up, just to make sure they could get to work. And then we would be snowed in and end up having to eat our co-workers for sustenance. Thank goodness lots of them look like whales...they will provide a great deal of nutrition for the rest of us.

Speaking of the whales, there is a lunch sale going on in our breakroom right now, which is right next to where I sit. Aren't I lucky, getting to sit right next to the elevator and the breakroom, the most heavily trafficked walkway in the building, when I can't stand to talk to anybody? Ugh. Anyways. So there's a whole herd of people (lots of whom resemble whales, or at least hippos) walking around my desk, carrying their plates full of food back to their desks, gathering by the elevator and talking at the top of their voices. At least this food doesn't stink. Sometimes they have things like chopped onions in there, stuff that just makes my eyes water. Disgusting. Or it's also great when someone sets the toaster oven (which, of course, I also sit next to) on fire. Now that's a great smell!

Man, I'm glad it's finally Friday. I get to go home and hope that I will never have to leave my house again. That would be heavenly.

Shut Up

I really despise small talk. My feeling is, if you don't have something important and substantial to say, then why are you opening your mouth? There isn't enough clean oxygen left to support the planet...we don't need you using it up with your stupid ramblings. And yet there are many situations where people seem to be uncomfortable if they can't think of something to say. And then there are people who just love to talk but don't really have anything to say that anyone wants to listen to.

There are a great many people at my work who have that problem. They always want to talk when they are waiting for the elevator, but they very rarely have anything to say that I find the least bit interesting. A "Hi" or "How are you?" would be fine. But instead, I have to listen to comments like: "Cheer up! You look grumpy!" or (on a Friday) "So it's finally Friday!" Like I don't know what day of the week it is.

But the absolute worst of the bunch are the people who ask questions to which the answers are glaringly obvious. For instance, if I have just cut and/or dyed my hair, I am treated to "Oh, did you cut/dye your hair?" Or when they look at pictures of my daughter and say "Wow, she's growing!" Like that's a shocker! What else do children do, shrink? Or another favorite "Wow, it's raining/snowing!" Because I can't see through glass well enough to see the weather myself.

Man, people are stupid.

Another thing that bugs me (and this has absolutely nothing to do with small talk, but it's been bugging me lately, so I have to add it to my rant) is women wearing stupid boots, especially with dresses. Now, boots are great, worn properly. But properly does not include wearing cowboy boots with sundresses, or high-waters with zip up ankle boots, or big black platform stripper boots to work. Get a grip, people! Go buy some nice boots with a small heel, and wear them with pants or a skirt that is actually long enough. Otherwise, you just look like a freak.

Sorry, I don't really have a lot of coherent thoughts right now. It's almost time to go home from work, and I can't concentrate on my monkey work anymore, so I am just typing and frowning at the screen so that I look busy. Because if I look busy, people are less likely to talk to me. Like George Costanza said, if you frown a lot, people think you are very busy, and that keeps people from talking to me. And anything that keeps people from talking to me (and I am not ruling out global nuclear war in this sentence) can only be a plus.