Dear Coworker,
Hi. Hello. How are you? What's up? Can I help you with something? All good? Hello again. I mean...still. A continuous hello to you, sir.
You're still here. Why are you still here? Walk away. You can end all this. Just walk away.
WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS STANDING SO CLOSE TO ME?
This is a combination of the internal monologue and outward conversation I've had with you for the last couple of weeks. Some of it surely sounds familiar (if a bit repetitive at this point), but I feel like these things have to be said. Not because I love the small talk, mind you, but because nothing makes the fact that your chin is touching my shoulder for about 3 hours each day more awkward than complete silence.
So I fill in the gaps. The conversational gaps, anyway. Not the physical gaps. Because there aren't any to fill. Because the front of your shirt is apparently stitched to the back of mine.
I know I smell nice. My naturally intoxicating musk is no doubt a cause of internal celebration for you, seeing as most things you smell around here are--to understate this in the nicest way--displeasing. And I realize everything I do is so extraordinarily educational and entertaining ("extra edu-tainment" you might call it) that you don't want to risk walking away for a moment only to find out later that you missed some monumental musing of mine that would have changed your life's path forever.
But you still can't hover over me like you're the puppeteer and I'm the marionette. (I know hand puppet would have been a more apt analogy here, but I couldn't stand the imagery.) Besides, you can't be the puppeteer if you know much less than the puppet! (Boy this analogy really got away from me. Please stick around despite this series of digressions. Not that you wouldn't anyways, seeing as how you're probably hovering over me as I write this!)
Let this letter serve as the nicest possible way for me to ask you to keep your distance. Step off my heels. Steer clear of my personal space. Stay out of my bubble. Just...go away.
Or else my bubble might...my intimate zone isn't for...something something personal boundaries pun. I CAN'T FOCUS ON ANALOGIES WITH YOUR BREATH ON THE BACK OF MY NECK!
Spatially aware,
Your coworker
Proof that the workforce breeds equal amounts cruelty and stupidity.
9/09/2013
You're Not the Earth. I'm Not the Sun. Stop Orbiting.
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8/06/2013
This Does Not Smell Like Success
Hey boss,
Could you send somebody in here to take a look at--or, rather a smell of--whatever awful beacon of the apocalypse that's currently nesting in our workplace.
I don't know what it is. I have no way of locating it, either. (In fact, I'm beginning to think it was sent here by VISA, because it's literally everywhere I want to be.) But if it helps, I can provide an exact description of this nasal atrocity: It's the smell of old french fries stuffed inside someone's butt. So have your people start with that.
Until we get this taken care of I'm going to refrain from going anywhere near my work, or anything else that might cause me to endure another second of what I will henceforth refer to as "The Devastation." The smells ruminating in that room aren't just intrusive, they're mind-altering. The other day I hallucinated I was a squid trying to escape from an old ham sandwich. It took me fifteen minutes to realize the ham sandwich was a metaphor for the room that contained The Devastation. But I am that goddamned squid.
In an effort to bring a little less death into my nostrils, I've been popping peppermints and lozenges like a chain smoker who's also addicted to swirling burnt hair around in their mouth. (Because those people's mouths smell bad. That's why I used that metaphor. Not because--I don't do weird things with burnt hair. Don't put that in my file.) But the effects are short-term and merely coat the smell. So now there's also a hint of peppermint farts in the air. You're welcome.
There must be a department responsible for keeping this place from smelling like old french fries stuffed inside someone's butt. There just has to be. Contact that department immediately.
I also feel like I shouldn't need to issue such frequent complaints about the smells happening in and around my work environment. Come on. This is a place of business. And not a business that specializes in devastating people's olfactory receptors.
Nauseatingly,
Your employee
Could you send somebody in here to take a look at--or, rather a smell of--whatever awful beacon of the apocalypse that's currently nesting in our workplace.
I don't know what it is. I have no way of locating it, either. (In fact, I'm beginning to think it was sent here by VISA, because it's literally everywhere I want to be.) But if it helps, I can provide an exact description of this nasal atrocity: It's the smell of old french fries stuffed inside someone's butt. So have your people start with that.
Until we get this taken care of I'm going to refrain from going anywhere near my work, or anything else that might cause me to endure another second of what I will henceforth refer to as "The Devastation." The smells ruminating in that room aren't just intrusive, they're mind-altering. The other day I hallucinated I was a squid trying to escape from an old ham sandwich. It took me fifteen minutes to realize the ham sandwich was a metaphor for the room that contained The Devastation. But I am that goddamned squid.
In an effort to bring a little less death into my nostrils, I've been popping peppermints and lozenges like a chain smoker who's also addicted to swirling burnt hair around in their mouth. (Because those people's mouths smell bad. That's why I used that metaphor. Not because--I don't do weird things with burnt hair. Don't put that in my file.) But the effects are short-term and merely coat the smell. So now there's also a hint of peppermint farts in the air. You're welcome.
There must be a department responsible for keeping this place from smelling like old french fries stuffed inside someone's butt. There just has to be. Contact that department immediately.
I also feel like I shouldn't need to issue such frequent complaints about the smells happening in and around my work environment. Come on. This is a place of business. And not a business that specializes in devastating people's olfactory receptors.
Nauseatingly,
Your employee
7/11/2013
The Pens. It's the Pens Again.
Coworkers,
The goddamn pens are gone again.
Are we serious with this? Who's got 'em? WHO IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS UNHOLY HAS THE PENS?
Okay. I lost my cool there for a second. I'd like to apologize for that. I don't mean to be angry. I would just like to know where those darn pens wind up at the end of the day. Ya know? And it would please me so much if you would BRING BACK SOME FUCKING PENS!
Black ink, red ink...fill them with indigo-dyed semen if you want. I don't care! Just give them to me so I can stop scavenging the workplace like a junkie who's suddenly lost every speck of crack that has ever existed in the world.
I will give any one of you a dollar if you can provide me footage of the dick-fart who is stuffing their pockets full of our pens. Provide me with that footage and I will not have to CUT YOU ALL.
If I do not have a legitimate, non-gnawed-on pen in my hands within 24 hours, your world will be ended.
Thank you and have a nice day.
- Your coworker
The goddamn pens are gone again.
Are we serious with this? Who's got 'em? WHO IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS UNHOLY HAS THE PENS?
Okay. I lost my cool there for a second. I'd like to apologize for that. I don't mean to be angry. I would just like to know where those darn pens wind up at the end of the day. Ya know? And it would please me so much if you would BRING BACK SOME FUCKING PENS!
Black ink, red ink...fill them with indigo-dyed semen if you want. I don't care! Just give them to me so I can stop scavenging the workplace like a junkie who's suddenly lost every speck of crack that has ever existed in the world.
I will give any one of you a dollar if you can provide me footage of the dick-fart who is stuffing their pockets full of our pens. Provide me with that footage and I will not have to CUT YOU ALL.
If I do not have a legitimate, non-gnawed-on pen in my hands within 24 hours, your world will be ended.
Thank you and have a nice day.
- Your coworker
6/24/2013
If The Sky Is Dark, It's Still Nighttime. Dickface.
Hey Boss,
I'm going to need you to stop calling me at 5 o'clock in the morning. Don't get me wrong, I love a good early morning wake-up call as much as the next guy--especially since my REM cycle was already destroyed from the routine drunk calls I receive from my mentally unstable exes--but maybe you should just wait a few hours.
And I get the rationale. You want me to come into work early to do...something, I suppose. (Never sure what that is, but it always involves the word "coverage.") And the only way to alert me of this need is to call me at 5 o'clock in the morning, because you clearly don't have a more logical back-up plan in place for this kind of situation. (Don't worry, you've only been doing this for 11 months. That's not even a full year to figure out what the words "on-call" mean. It takes at least twice that time and a whole slew of charts to fully grasp this outlandish concept.)
But if you call me at 5 A.M., I then have to throw my phone against the closest available surface, where it shatters into a thousand glorious pieces, thus disengaging the alarms I've set to wake me up for work. So now there's a good chance I'm actually going to come in late rather than early.
And that's on you.
So, the next time you consider dialing my number before sunrise, I want you to think about the chain reaction that will ensue. Then I want you to throw your phone against a nearby surface so that you can't wake anybody else up that day. Otherwise, I'm going to start calling you at 3 A.M.--I'll already be up debating the merits of something called "fork stumping" with my very sensible ex--and tell you not to call me in two hours.
Cool?
Cool.
- Your unnecessarily tired employee
I'm going to need you to stop calling me at 5 o'clock in the morning. Don't get me wrong, I love a good early morning wake-up call as much as the next guy--especially since my REM cycle was already destroyed from the routine drunk calls I receive from my mentally unstable exes--but maybe you should just wait a few hours.
And I get the rationale. You want me to come into work early to do...something, I suppose. (Never sure what that is, but it always involves the word "coverage.") And the only way to alert me of this need is to call me at 5 o'clock in the morning, because you clearly don't have a more logical back-up plan in place for this kind of situation. (Don't worry, you've only been doing this for 11 months. That's not even a full year to figure out what the words "on-call" mean. It takes at least twice that time and a whole slew of charts to fully grasp this outlandish concept.)
But if you call me at 5 A.M., I then have to throw my phone against the closest available surface, where it shatters into a thousand glorious pieces, thus disengaging the alarms I've set to wake me up for work. So now there's a good chance I'm actually going to come in late rather than early.
And that's on you.
So, the next time you consider dialing my number before sunrise, I want you to think about the chain reaction that will ensue. Then I want you to throw your phone against a nearby surface so that you can't wake anybody else up that day. Otherwise, I'm going to start calling you at 3 A.M.--I'll already be up debating the merits of something called "fork stumping" with my very sensible ex--and tell you not to call me in two hours.
Cool?
Cool.
- Your unnecessarily tired employee
6/04/2013
I Owe Your Face an Apology
Sharon,
I owe you an apology. The other day when I told you that "Your incompetence and fuck up-ery is equal only to the ugliness of that thing you call a face..." That was wrong. I shouldn't have said that.
After much deliberation with HR, I realize now that what I should have said was "Your incredible aptitude for ruining everything I might have tolerated about a given day remains your ugliest attribute. Except for that thing you call a face."
They tell me it's all in the wording.
Sorry,
Your coworker
I owe you an apology. The other day when I told you that "Your incompetence and fuck up-ery is equal only to the ugliness of that thing you call a face..." That was wrong. I shouldn't have said that.
After much deliberation with HR, I realize now that what I should have said was "Your incredible aptitude for ruining everything I might have tolerated about a given day remains your ugliest attribute. Except for that thing you call a face."
They tell me it's all in the wording.
Sorry,
Your coworker
4/26/2013
How Does One Schedule Madness?
Hey boss,
I just wanted to express my sincerest empathy to you regarding this whole schedule reorganization thing. I know that overhauling all of our work schedules is a difficult task. I've also heard all the chatter from the other employees about how your new scheduling practices are "inconsistent" and "constantly perplexing" and "ruining everyone's lives" and yadda, yadda, yadda.
Some people just like to complain, I guess.
I, on the other hand, totally get why you're changing to this more free-wheelin' or "random" system, as others have called it. It's all in the suspense!
Remember when we'd get our monthly schedules issued to us two weeks in advance--almost like clockwork--and those schedules would have consistent shift patterns? There was no drama in that, whatsoever. Talk about BO-RING! Am I right?
I really enjoy the tension. The waiting. The pondering. The more waiting. The hoping that I'm not the one who has to work 13 shifts in one week. The even more waiting...
It's just like being on a game show, except the prize isn't a new car or a tasteful outdoor patio set. The prize is not having to work during my niece's school play that I requested off three months ago.
All in all, I don't think there's anything too complicated about our new schedules. Take mine, for example:
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, I work in the morning, at 6:30, 7:30, and 7:18 respectively.
Tuesdays I work night shifts usually starting at 2:30, but possibly at 4:30, depending on what phase the moon cycle is in.
Fridays I have half a day off, unless someone calls in sick, in which case I work 19 hours and then come in the following day at noon to correct any errors I made the day before.
Every other weekend I work one morning shift and one night shift, obviously. Unless it's the last weekend of the month, in which case I simply call you each morning and have you tell me what time to come in and whether I need to bring lunch for the office.
April Fool's Day I get the day off and you pay for my all-inclusive trip to Jamaica, where I simply work from my company bungalow. (You compensate me for that annually on February 30th, from what I understand.)
The night of the EMMYs I work half a shift in the morning and half a shift at night, unless of course Adele sweeps all the categories she was nominated in, because then I stay overnight.
It's. So. Simple! I can't believe people actually complain about this kind of stuff. What's next, people whining about the lack of locks for our lockers?? (Although, I gotta admit, that would be a lot of fun to say out loud.)
I guess what I'm trying to say is this: keep up the good work and don't let a bunch of cry-babies get you all worked up over the little details.
Dependably yours,
Your employee
I just wanted to express my sincerest empathy to you regarding this whole schedule reorganization thing. I know that overhauling all of our work schedules is a difficult task. I've also heard all the chatter from the other employees about how your new scheduling practices are "inconsistent" and "constantly perplexing" and "ruining everyone's lives" and yadda, yadda, yadda.
Some people just like to complain, I guess.
I, on the other hand, totally get why you're changing to this more free-wheelin' or "random" system, as others have called it. It's all in the suspense!
Remember when we'd get our monthly schedules issued to us two weeks in advance--almost like clockwork--and those schedules would have consistent shift patterns? There was no drama in that, whatsoever. Talk about BO-RING! Am I right?
I really enjoy the tension. The waiting. The pondering. The more waiting. The hoping that I'm not the one who has to work 13 shifts in one week. The even more waiting...
It's just like being on a game show, except the prize isn't a new car or a tasteful outdoor patio set. The prize is not having to work during my niece's school play that I requested off three months ago.
All in all, I don't think there's anything too complicated about our new schedules. Take mine, for example:
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, I work in the morning, at 6:30, 7:30, and 7:18 respectively.
Tuesdays I work night shifts usually starting at 2:30, but possibly at 4:30, depending on what phase the moon cycle is in.
Fridays I have half a day off, unless someone calls in sick, in which case I work 19 hours and then come in the following day at noon to correct any errors I made the day before.
Every other weekend I work one morning shift and one night shift, obviously. Unless it's the last weekend of the month, in which case I simply call you each morning and have you tell me what time to come in and whether I need to bring lunch for the office.
April Fool's Day I get the day off and you pay for my all-inclusive trip to Jamaica, where I simply work from my company bungalow. (You compensate me for that annually on February 30th, from what I understand.)
The night of the EMMYs I work half a shift in the morning and half a shift at night, unless of course Adele sweeps all the categories she was nominated in, because then I stay overnight.
It's. So. Simple! I can't believe people actually complain about this kind of stuff. What's next, people whining about the lack of locks for our lockers?? (Although, I gotta admit, that would be a lot of fun to say out loud.)
I guess what I'm trying to say is this: keep up the good work and don't let a bunch of cry-babies get you all worked up over the little details.
Dependably yours,
Your employee
4/09/2013
Too Good to Be True?
Coworkers,
Hmm. I'm not really sure what to say to you guys right now. You've all been so...pleasant? Is that--yeah, I suppose that's the right word. Pleasant. And hard-working.
Hmm.
You've been so good that I wonder if I've fallen into a coma, or if I've been staring into a snow globe this past month while your kind acts and overall non-butthole-ishness were all taking place in my head. You know, like St. Elsewhere? But less eventful and I don't have autism...
Am I getting Punk'D? Is this one of those things where you lull me into a false sense of security, only to come back with something harder and stronger and stupider than ever before? Because, if so, I feel like you should tell me that. I know that would seem counter-intuitive to your big surprise douchebaggery, but rest assured, if that happens and you DIDN'T warn me, I'll literally cut off all your genitalia, put it in a box, and donate it to Goodwill. Because I don't play. But I do give to charity.
Anywho, hope we can keep this streak going. Because there's something about leaving work and not wanting to commit a serious felony that is so...refreshing.
Appreciatively,
Your coworker
Hmm. I'm not really sure what to say to you guys right now. You've all been so...pleasant? Is that--yeah, I suppose that's the right word. Pleasant. And hard-working.
Hmm.
You've been so good that I wonder if I've fallen into a coma, or if I've been staring into a snow globe this past month while your kind acts and overall non-butthole-ishness were all taking place in my head. You know, like St. Elsewhere? But less eventful and I don't have autism...
Am I getting Punk'D? Is this one of those things where you lull me into a false sense of security, only to come back with something harder and stronger and stupider than ever before? Because, if so, I feel like you should tell me that. I know that would seem counter-intuitive to your big surprise douchebaggery, but rest assured, if that happens and you DIDN'T warn me, I'll literally cut off all your genitalia, put it in a box, and donate it to Goodwill. Because I don't play. But I do give to charity.
Anywho, hope we can keep this streak going. Because there's something about leaving work and not wanting to commit a serious felony that is so...refreshing.
Appreciatively,
Your coworker
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