Taping

February 25, 2009

What the hell is she taping? One of my neighbors has been tearing off little pieces of tape for over an hour now. Shuffling papers after each slice of the tape dispenser, too, indicating that there is a reason for her insanity.

This is an office. It’s 2009, for God’s sake. What the fuck needs taping nowadays?

Is she building a little fort out of printer paper and tape? Is she building a paper and tape ball? Is she running a distribution center?

I mean, really. What could it be? If I liked her, I’d ask her, but I don’t, so I can’t. She’s a loud personal call talker and radio listener, just to mention two of her endless neighbor faults. (Speaking of which, I can’t hear her radio today, because the heat is blowing louder than usual through the vents. Never mind that it’s the warmest day of the winter.)

An hour later: She still won’t stop fucking taping shit. I’ve opened the supply cabinet and hoarded all the rolls of tape. She has to run out soon, right?

An hour and fifteen later: I’m leaving.


Aftershave Afternoons

February 21, 2009

This office is dangerously close to a Gentleman’s Club. And there’s something about Wednesdays. Maybe they have free wings on Wednesdays? I don’t know. Don’t really care. I just notice that every Wednesday afternoon, the wafting smell of mixed colognes makes me simultaneously nauseous and sneeze-y.

I admit that it does make me wonder when the application takes place. Is it beforehand to smell attractive or afterward to camouflage the smoke, the bar, the wings, the girls? It also makes me wonder if there are enough hours in the afternoon to make the smell dissipate before going home to their wives and families.

I wonder if a wife has noticed. Said anything? Heck, I don’t even know these men, but I want to ask questions. So I’m pretty sure a wife would.

“Honey, why do you smell so good on Wednesdays?”

“For you, my dear, for you.”

Bleh.


Mystery of Life

February 9, 2009
first1 This guy wins! There is no way I will ever encounter anyone more gross, more disgusting, more oblivious, less worthy of a spot in this world.

He was (I use past tense, because I honestly hope he drowned in his sleep) THE most intrusive, most thoughtless, most disgusting, and, all the while, THE most mysterious freak of them all. It is a relief, actually, to know that I will never encounter someone who tops you.

I understand sniffers and coughers. No problem. But this guy? This guy had this shit in his throat that didn’t budge. He constantly recycled the shit, never fully releasing it, never fully swallowing it. The loogie that just wouldn’t let go, I guess. But it wasn’t the consistency of one loogie, it was balls and balls of loogies just rolling around in his throat, day after day after day. It was horrendous to sit near. The only other time I have been this nauseous at work was when I had morning sickness almost twenty years ago.

I had no idea how to approach this. A contractor asking to be moved is like asking for a nail in your coffin. You don’t ask for things, period, but if you did, you better have a damned good reason and there was no reason other than this mutant. And how to bring that up?

I mentioned my predicament one day to a co-worker and she said, “I know, I’ve heard him. But he’s really involved in his church and he’s very active with the Little League Association”.

Huh?

The thought of this man’s throat in church or on a ball field about made my lunch come up. But, never mind that, because the bigger problem was that this man had bragged to someone about all the good he was doing? (People at work don’t know how good you are, unless you tell them.)

I didn’t buy it, he had to know. When I’d talk about it (which I would every chance I got), people would also say, “He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it.”

Huh?

Did the rolling loogies affect his hearing? Even if he couldn’t hear, he had to feel it – there was intermittent slurping, indicating the presence of drool. It had to hurt when, every so often, it’d get so bad that he’d have to let loose the biggest, ungodliest noise you’ve ever heard. Did he not fear for his own life? (Hell, I hated the guy, but even amidst my contempt for him, I found an iota of concern for when a loogie might roll the wrong way and choke his ass to death. That he’d be found dead, forehead to keyboard, stuck in a sea of crap that never would come loose. Granted, I’d have peace, but it’d be something to see that could very well haunt me for the rest of my days.)

Nah, I didn’t buy it. He knew. Then, I got the proof I needed that not only was he the grossest human being to ever walk the planet, but he was also the most awful:

I, being the kind, generous soul that I am, decided to send him an email asking him to be more considerate. I chose email, because, 1) I didn’t know him, and 2) wouldn’t it be extremely embarrassing for him if I went to his cube and said, “Can I get you a hose to help clear your throat?”

Well, it went over great. He got louder and louder. And, I can only assume he researched who I was, because when he saw me in the halls, he started giving me dirty looks. This baseball/church saint gave me dirty looks. HE gave ME dirty looks. I will pointlessly say it on my deathbed, I know, yet I have no choice: What is wrong with people?

Time served with this mutant: 4 months

Time that I knew better and will never get back: 3 months, 29 days