Another Fine Illustration Of How Or Why I Hate Certain Co-workers--I mean, "Co-Irkers"

Four Letter Word, Starting With C and Ending With T

9:30 a.m.: Arrive to the office.

9:35 a.m.: Get call from Bossman #1 that there's something super urgent I need to work on with him. We work on it all day. HUGE PITA.

3:25 p.m.: Give the document to our director (in the presence of Bossman #1). Director says, "It's perfect, please email it to me. Thanks." I left her office in such a hurry (as I thought expedience in getting this emailed to her was more important than curtseying and kissing the ring with a "You're welcome" in reply to her thank you). As I exited, I was about 2-3 feet from her office, when I heard her passively-aggressively snarl out, "YOU'RE WELCOME."

3:30 p.m.: I inform bossman of two things: "Did I hear her passively-aggressively blurt out "You're Welcome to me? (He replied, "You heard THAT?") I replied, "I hear EVERYTHING," and then I blurted out "HEY. I AM HUNGRY." And he says, "Go for your lunch!" (FINALLY)

4:15 p.m.: He walks into the breakroom in the dungeon, interrupting my Fortress of Solitude, and I launched into "Gee, it's nice to know that the fact I delayed my lunch by three and a half hours was greatly appreciated by her." And I brought up the "You're welcome" (and in my mind, if you're playing along at home, the voice in my head sounds like Large Marge from PeeWee's Big Adventure). 

I said, "Yanno, a four letter word, starting with C and ending with T really applies here." And he said, "Nope. Nope. I don't want to hear that word!" And I said, "I'm far too clever for you. The word that applies here is CURT." (He agreed.) He then replied, "Hey, she told you the document was PERFECT! I've never heard that I did anything perfectly!" My reply back to him was, "Well she fucked up the slap and tickle! Slap and tickle, you start with the negative, and conclude with something positive. She fucked up the compliment by being curt." The final exchange here was his reply to that, "Well, at least "I" appreciate you!" And I said, "And to that, I say, thank you Good Sir! Right back atcha!"

On Being the Pivot Person In a Workplace Circle Jerk By Email

Mind you, Slacker cannot be bothered to answer the switchboard (she IS after all, the RECEPTIONIST) or put away supplies when they are delivered, or ensure we get our mail from next door, or make sure the outgoing mail GOES OUT, but fuck all, yes. By all means, let's have a circle jerk via email about supplies purchasing. Also worth noting, we only have a staff of THREE of us. Generally speaking the other two of us (non-Slacker) try not to be out of the office at precisely the same time. This, as they say in the vernacular is a NONSTARTER. Fuck her sideways.

Now, the circle jerk in question, I present to you, the email from the Slacker:

From: Slacker
Sent: Wednesday, June 18, 2014 3:26 PM
To: Me (and CC: TheWorkHorse)
Subject: [Left blank]

Should you be out of the office and someone needs to place an order for supply. Who and where should I contact to place the order?

From: Me
Sent: Wednesday, June 18, 2014 3:27 PM
To: Slacker

I believe Mary is my alternate.

From: Slacker
Sent: Wednesday, June 18, 2014, 3:28 PM
To: Me

Okay, should both you and your alternate be out of the office, and I need to place an order, who and where should I contact?

From: Me
Sent: Wednesday, June 18, 2014, 3:29 PM
Forwarded To: Mary

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?

END NOTE: I refuse, on principle, to reply back to the Slacker. Why should I tell her about supplies purchasing? It's not like she actually does any work around here. Just counting down the days until she springs yet another pregnancy on us.

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Poo Redux

"Gee thanks for not photographing your dump. I still haven't recovered after the last time you did that." 

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Putting the ASS in ASSault Weaponry

Behold, my primary ASSault weapon in my workplace ARSEnal!!! BEHOLD!!!!

Yes. I keep this can of air freshener front and center on my desk, because my sense of smell is assaulted on such a regular basis, it is all I can do to prevent myself from ZOMG RAGEPUMMELING the assholes who insist on either CROP DUSTING as they pass my cubicle, or insist on eating uber-stenchy fish soup in a small, confined workplace. 

Today saw fit for a bonus round of workplace pants crapping by my cube's next door neighbor who sits a scant 18 inches from me, who is preparing for a capsule endoscopy tomorrow a.m., who has been obviously on laxatives and clear liquids since roughly noon today, who has been involuntarily farting (and saying "Excuse me" to herself the entire time, WTF). And by "farting" I mean it truly sounds like she's been stomping the life out of the AFLAC duck.

Dear Universe: Please, for the love of all that is holy, please just make this stop and get me the fuck out of this workplace.

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Shithouse Edition

Note to self: 

No. Others who use the workplace shithouse were NOT raised by wolves. If they were, in fact, raised by wolves, they would not shit or piss directly on the toilet seat, but "toilet adjacent."

Those Who Hope, Die Farting

How my day's evolving:
7:45 Woke up despairing
9:30 Arrive at work.
9:35 Poop.
10:07 Sudden onset hopefulness(*1).
10:30 Cheese and crackers.
11:40 Back to Despair(*2).
T-Minus 9 minutes until forced, faux-friendliness w/doorman.
AND I SWEAR TO THE GREAT POWER OF THE UNIVERSE, "THEWORKHORSE" JUST PASSED MY CUBE AND IN DOING SO, PASSED GAS.... SRSLY! IT SOUNDED LIKE SHE FUCKING STEPPED ON A DUCK!!!! OMG OMG OMG JUST MAKE IT ALL STOP!!!!!

*1: Received an email from an interested party in re: my resume. Started email back and forth, wherein I put my top three terms of what I am looking for in a job, clearly stated.

*2: Realization that if I took the job, it would require a $10 per hour CUT in salary. 

Mavenism of the Moment: Friend... or "FAUX?"

Yes. "Faux." Not to be confused with foe. In this context, "faux" would be those people you appear "friendly enough" to skirt the issue that you find them tedious as fucking a mud puddle, but you have to maintain some measure of professional courtesy because they are the first person you see when entering your workplace (for example).  

So it's uncharacteristically disingenuous as fuck for me to "faux-friend" this person, but it'd be more cruel for me to be even more blunt and tell him why. Smile, nod, keep things short, and get the fuck out of Dodge first chance I can get. 

I don't mind long philosophical conversations or even long conversations about slice of life or absurdity--but this drain? I get enough of it from my own mother, I don't need to outsource crazy, abusive, narcissism... and well? TIME WASTER.

For example: 

I've been working here since St. Patrick's Day (roughly two and a half months). One of our doormen is Haitian. While normally I love a French accent and find it continental and sexy and sometimes sophisticated, I've now downgraded this wuss to "faux." 

He is a 40 year old man who whines endlessly about how his mother abuses him and his kindness. While, yes, I *have* informed him,  "NUT UP MAN, YOU ARE IN YOUR FORTIES! NIP THAT SHIT IN THE BUD!" he continues with the whining. Nothing worse than a grown assed man acting like a powerless, neutered little boy. A whining, powerless little boy who pronounces friend as "FWEND."  And this is inescapable, as he starts every interaction with, "My fwend..."

Bottom line is, he's become a drain on me, my patience, my attention span, and has become a time waster.

I have now taken to staggering my lunch hour by a scant five minutes, so when I approach the lobby, people are already engaging him in conversation, and by the time I am done with my soup and ready to head back up to my office at 2:05, he's already progressed onto his next work station elsewhere for the remainder for the day.

Scenes From the Salt Mine

A fine counterpoint for those who pooh-pooh or worry about my occasional use of pocket likker for medicinal purposes in the workplace. Yes. This actually has replaced the communal jug of Absolut. 

So Sayeth The Maven

"Either you can work at getting to my gooey interior, or you can do nothing and continue to get nothing but my crusty exterior. Choice is up to you. I personally could NOT care less. I don't fuck you. You don't pay my bills. Crust, ahoy!" (Yes. Actually said to two co-workers regarding my prickly reputation.)

Why Yes, She IS, In Fact, Jamaican.

You Might Be An Asshole If...

If you work with me, and it's clear to all that I do not have an office, hence I lack an actual DOOR, you might be an asshole if, you interrupt what I'm doing by prefacing your request with "KNOCK KNOCK!" Because I'll tell you what, asshole, it just makes me want to KNOCK KNOCK your big fat bucked teeth right out of your head.

STFUAGDIAF!

See also: Horsey McBigtooth Edition.

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Necromance Edition

What do these three items have in common?

• Used condom.
• Whole, raw sweet potato (or quite possibly a yam).
• Fecal pile (definitely mammalian; possibly human, inadequately tucked into a plain brown lunch sack).

All three items were discovered one day (several years ago*) outside the entrance to my office building

Additionally, another day resulted in a brown lunch sack full of fecal material, that appeared as if the originating extruder's diet consisted of nothing but canned pumpkin.

*Unfortunately, sadly, no photographic proof. This was back before I had a cell phone with a camera feature. Inexplicably, I dredged up that memory today, and figured I'd slap the memory herein to share. Because I'm a fucking "giver."

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Location-Nexus of CrayCray and What the Fuck

Our office should be relocating by mid-March. None-too-soon, if you ask me. 

Yesterday, as I went down to the lobby to sign for a UPS parcel, when I opened the door to the lobby, I was quite literally punched in the snot locker by the fetid stench of urine.

As I signed for the parcel, my eyes darted around to all four corners of the lobby, and I asked the UPS delivery dude, "WTF, did someone urinate out here?" He replied, "I don't know. I've been holding my breath waiting for you to come sign for this package!"

The current location of our office is in a very depressed part of town. Within a 2-4 block radius of my front door there is:

• A men's shelter, 90% of occupants are on the county's sex offender registry 
• Transitional housing (aka welfare hotel) for folks transitioning from shelter system to Section 8 
• The Projects 
• A methadon clinic 
• Probation/Parole 
• Family court 
• Social services 
• County and Federal court buildings 
• TASC (Treatment Alternatives for Safer Communities)

So "downstairs" gets quite a bit of foot traffic, and quite a bit of that foot traffic is chock full of the cray-cray.

Oh, I neglected to mention, right outside our office is a bus stop, yanno, to make it super easy for all the derelicts to come here.

It's a very depressing area. Interestingly, you walk 2 blocks in any direction and the tone changes radically. Two blocks in one direction? Pricey condos. Two blocks in another direction? Hookers and blow (well, not really two blocks, that's further down on Lexington, but still a walkable distance). 

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: What the actual fuck?

We are a legal office. WTFF? This shit stopped me in my tracks today.

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Drivlings From the Salt Mine

The thing I love about loud talkers (who talk on their cell phone like it's a coffee can attached to another coffee can with string) is, that I can talk about how rude they are, while I am standing RIGHT NEXT TO THEM, and they can't hear me. Swear to FSM, there's this guy who's like an effing bumble bee, pollinating otherwise quiet areas in the building with his obnoxiously loud cell phone conversations. 

Hey motherfucker! Yes you! How'zabout you take your ChattyKathy Ass to your OWN office and shut the door?!

Fuckyouverymuch!

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: STFU, GFOADIAF "REPLY ALL" MOTHERFUCKER

Original email sent to every single employee in our agency (as if we all care or even KNOW this dillhole personally--syntax, punctuation and formatting all AS IS/AS WAS): 

            I will be breaking out the Champagne on January 2nd, 2014 to celebrate the start of my life as a relaxed rambunctious retiree.

For those of my colleagues and friends in the [redacted] who may have missed the celebration in Syracuse honoring my 35 years of service with the [redacted] , I would like to offer a few pearls of wisdom.

            From my days in the [redacted] Bureau,  I learned that if you are unable to read a map…you are probably holding it upside down.

I also learned that “chains and links” is not a description of a dysfunctional marital situation.

           From my days in the [redacted #2]  I learned that an insurance adjuster will never admit that the damaged State guardrail probably prevented his/her company from making a larger pay out for the accident.

           I also learned that wrestling with a greased pig at a county fair or litigating with evasive student loan debtors can be pretty much the same experience.

            Finally, from my days in the [redacted #3] Bureau I learned that it is impossible to explain a hospital bill to a patient or his/her family members in under 1,000 words.

               I learned too that my friends and colleagues in the [redacted] are the best. I wish all of you success in your careers and endeavors.

               As they said in Rome….”Laborate et vosmet rebus servate secundum diebus prosperibus”…work hard and save yourselves for happier days…such as retirement!

 Response #1, ALSO, OBVIOUSLY, “REPLY ALL”:

How about litigating with a greased pig ? Thanks for the wisdom, good luck to you! 

Response #2 REPLY ALL:

Hear! Hear! We are going to miss your infamous poems and ponderings …

 [Subtext no doubt: you’re full of shit and prattle endlessly.]

[PLEASE JUST MAKE IT STOP!!!!]

Response #3, ALSO, REPLY ALL:

Witty words of wisdom indeed, and as always; however, now I am picturing you wresting that greased pig!

[WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? AND WHY THE HELL ARE THEY REPLYING ALL WITH THIS INANE BULLCRAP?]

Response #4, REPLY ALL:

 As someone who is currently working in the [REDACTED]  Bureau, thanks for the tip on the maps---that explains a lot. Have a happy retirement!

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Douchebaggery En Masse

[Co-worker's mom died yesterday a.m. As per Jewish tradition, she's being buried today. Aforementioned co-worker sits a mere eight (8) feet from me.]

Today's stunning example of Douchebaggery En Masse is, realizing upon arrival this a.m., that EVERY SINGLE PERSON in my office is attending the funeral and burial AS A GROUP. 

Obviously, this was discussed yesterday amongst themselves, yet at no point in time did they think to include me. 

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Your Tax Dollars At Work

1. You're 2 security assistants who have a problem with your manager and decide rather than NUT UP and be a man and tell your manager you have a problem with him, you scamper off to his boss to lodge a complaint.
2. You're that boss and decide to punish the manager in #1 by relocating the workers to different positions, thereby reducing the department of the aforementioned manager in #1 to one person, that being the manager himself. (Yes, you read correct: a department of ONE PERSON.)
3. You're a former-security assistant who is the go-to person for issues that arise when the manager in #1 is out of the office, and despite you and everyone else knowing this, you put others in the middle by refusing to do what you're supposed to do if/when that manager is out of the office, when folks go directly to you, yanno, since we're all, allegedly, on the same team, which then leaves those of us caught in the middle to project, albeit second hand, your assholeishness to the bossman to get him to deal with the situation at hand, which hilariously enough, involves HIM asking you to do the very thing you were just asked to do in the first place.

Your tax dollars at work, motherfuckers! 

Total time it took to get someone to remedy this situation: 20 minutes.
Total time it should have taken to remedy this situation, minus the assholery:  1< scant minute should have been sufficient to remedy the situation.

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Horsey McBigtooth Edition

You might be an asshole if you treat me like the mother-fucking-hired-help and decide to do a power play with me over something that'd take less than 2 minutes to remedy:

No, dipshit. *I* am the one being the asshole for insisting you re-do your certified mail and put the return receipt on the back of the envelope LIKE THE REST OF HUMANITY DOES, because very clearly, I do NOT have anything better to do with my time than to fuck with your outgoing mail item. CLEARLY, I am the one being the asshole here. (NOT!)

(hour later...)

Touche dipshit. Insisting on leaving the return receipt required tag on the front of your envelope? Bravo on asserting yourself. I shall stamp the envelope and YOU can go to the overcrowded post office during YOUR lunch hour and see how this experiment goes.


I thoroughly anticipated She-of-the-Big-Toothedness to return to the office VICTORIOUS, a la Smuggy McSmuggerson (on the very off chance that she could mail the item with the green tag on the front of the mail article). But no! GLORY DAY, GLORY DAY, MOTHERFUCKERS! She slinked back to her office and nary a peep was heard from for the rest of the day. I can only deduce that "she got told" by a USPS clerk to do up a new tag.  

I am counting down the days until our office relocates (estimated time from now: 94 days, unless they change the date AGAIN), at which point in time Karma will reach around and bite her in her ass (in the form of her becoming part of the herd and no longer a "some body special" with an actual office with a door). Comeuppance Day is a-comin', bitch! Yeee hawwww!

End Note: FML. She didn't say shit to me yesterday because I went into stealth mode. Apparently you CAN stick that green tag on the front of your envelope (if there's room). So of course, moving forward, that's how she's going to do that from now on just to be a twat. 

PS: She shall be dubbed Horsey McBigtooth. While looking like Jack McBrayer of 30 Rock is okay for Jack McBrayer, it's not a good look for a female. Yeah, picture Jack McBrayer with a pixie haircut and a barrette, with entitlement issues. That's what I'm dealing with. She could very easily eat an apple thru a picket fence, if you know what I mean.