2/21/2014

Tone It Down, New Guy

New Guy,

Hi there. Let me start off by welcoming you to the fray. I'm sure you'll find the working environment here to be adequate and the people to be...here, most of the time.

As the new guy, I'm sure you have a whole bunch of questions about the lay of the land. What does what? Who does who? Why does everyone treat pens like they're made of gold? That sort of thing. But just relax for now. You need to learn the day-to-day before you start trying to change the world. Dip those toes-ies in the shallow end a little before you cannonball, hit your head on the bottom of the pool, break your skull, pass out and drown.

Because the more questions you ask, the more you'll know. And the more you know, the more you'll want to drink yourself to death. (Drowning your sorrows in bourbon is one thing, but literally drowning your lungs in bourbon is another.)

Right now you have the confident swagger of someone so brimming with ideals that they're practically falling out of your butt. It's to be expected. Around here we call that "The 6 Month Sincerity Strut." This is all new. You're untested. The world is your oyster and you are going to pee all over it. Right? Not so fast, honky tonk. Because I can assure you one thing: There is nowhere you think you can pee that I haven't already whizzed on a million times over. Catch my drift?

That sincerity and enthusiasm will quickly fade. I had it once. And while I hate to be the one to break this to you, I feel it's my duty to warn you about the giant pit of hissing snakes you're walking directly toward. If you don't pump the brakes and change your course, you're going to get bit. Hard and often.

If you will indulge me for a moment, I'd like to offer a few suggestions on how you can both improve your time at this company and also keep everyone from wanting to throw you off a very tall ledge onto avery jagged, knife-filled surface.

  1. Take it slow, Idaho. Remember who won the race between the Tortoise and the Hare? Imagine yourself as the Tortoise and this new job of yours is a race to your own grave. You can sprint there, sure, but wouldn't you rather extend the race by strolling along the track, taking in the scenery, and eating a lot of sandwiches on a lot of unauthorized snack breaks?
  2. In your first month, don't send emails to all of your coworkers telling them what to do and what not to do. That's just dumb. 
  3. Don't be dumb.
  4. If you ever feel like Anthony is looking at you like you're a piece of meat, know that Anthony is literally looking at you like you're a piece of meat. He probably wants to eat you. Stay away from Anthony.
  5. Understand that no one likes a man who appears too big for his britches. Be comfortable in the pants your current position dictates you wear. Don't try to wear pants that are outside your scope of responsibilities.
  6. Understand that no one likes it when you use the word "britches." Or use pants as an analogy to describe someone's sense of self importance.

But seriously, you're new. Don't act like you know more than the rest of us. Allow me to use a more fitting, pants-less analogy:

If you do not yet have your driver's license, and are in the passenger seat trying to learn how this whole vehicle manipulation thing works, it's important to simply sit and observe. Ask questions if you'd like. And if you believe you somehow know more than the person driving (even though you've never operated a motor carriage before), I suppose you can silently disagree with them. But DO NOT grab the steering wheel and attempt to turn the car around because you feel they are driving in the wrong direction. That's a good way to get kicked out of a moving vehicle.

Or, as my good friend Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson would say: Know your role and shut your mouth. Jabroni.


Hope these suggestions find you before Anthony takes a bite out of your calf.


- Your Coworker

2/05/2014

Butt Fridge

Dear Breakroom Fridge,

You stink like butts.

And ham. Always ham.

Like this. But smellier.
Get it together.

Sincerely,
Someone Who Wants to Be Back Inside You

12/28/2013

Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animals

Coworkers,

I do not care if you celebrate Christmas. I do not care if you celebrate Kwanza. I do not care if you celebrate Hanukkah. (Or Chanukah. Or Nun-chucks.) I don't even care if you acknowledge that January 1st signifies the beginning of a new year. Maybe you think the year starts with the first melting of snow or that it restarts every time you microwave a batch of pizza rolls. I'm fine with it all.

Just please keep your mouth shut about the whole Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas turf war. I don't care. You shouldn't care. None of us should even be talking about this because it's a non-controversy. (A nontroversy, if you like.)

If you greet me by saying "Happy Holidays," I won't take offense that I don't celebrate all of the holidays. I celebrate some of them, and I get the idea. And if I accidentally slip a "Merry Christmas" to you, and you don't celebrate the holiday, I expect nothing, not even a polite head nod, in return. You can even tell me to go suck Kris Kringle's jolly ding dong if you want. But don't talk my ear off about how ethnocentricity is ruining the fabric of American society. (I'd probably even agree with you, I just don't want to discuss it.)

Does Santa come down your chimney wearing a velour jumpsuit or does Krampus come crashing through your window to stuff you in his demonic sack? Who cares? It's like asking if I'd prefer diamond-studded rocket ships or a dozen Heidi Klum clones as my personal attendants. They're both wildly improbable figments my imagination, so what's the point in debating it?


Bah fucking humbug,
Your Coworker


P.S. I have 12 identical ideas for late Christmas gifts, if anyone is interested.

12/10/2013

Do You Want That Now? Or Just Now? How About...NOW?

Corrine,

Now. Pronto. Immediately. ASAP. Stat. At once. Straightaway. Posthaste. This instant. Make it snappy. Quickly. Quicker. YOU HAVE TO GO QUICKER!

Say it however you want, you're not getting this goddamn report any faster. I know this time of the year tends to give people grand ideas, but I'm not a magical elf. (Not even a regular one, in fact.) When you give me something to do that takes approximately one hour to execute, you have to then wait at least nine minutes before you start harassing me about why it hasn't been finished.

Don't get me wrong, once that ninth minute passes you have every reason to berate me like a dog that just shit on your favorite facial feature. Because who the fuck takes nine minutes to perform a task that normally takes 60 of those same minutes? A real piece of shit, that's who!

So at least we're on the same page with that.

But still, I'd really appreciate it if you could give me an opportunity to do the goddamn thing you just told me to do. It would certainly be mutually beneficial.

So kindly leave me alone. Now. Pronto. Swiftly. Chop, chop. Lickety-split. Double time it. Rapido! Fuck off. Faster! YOU HAVE TO FUCK OFF FASTER!

Thanks,
Your Coworker

11/25/2013

I Say "Vacation," You Say "You Can't Do That"


Hey boss,

I need a vacation from being awesome. It's getting to be a bit of a burden.

But seriously, you have to allow me to take a vacation at some point during my tenure at this job. I'm pretty sure it's a law or something.

So I'll make you a deal: You give me a week off or...I will continue submitting formal requests for you to give me a week off. All up in your desk space. It will rain company-issued vacation slips like it's a working class Lil Wayne music video.

I don't really have any better ideas right now. I'm tired.

Give me vacation.

Slothfully,
Your Employee

11/13/2013

You Can't Spell Dumb Without "Ummmm." Also, "Derrrrr."

Dear Alice,

You are a person. A human person. You are over the age of 10. You are aware of the weather conditions sometimes, and can sometimes share those insights with those around you. Sometimes not. Occasionally, the words you say form sentences and thoughts.

And that's all of the things I can say about you that don't sound negative and insulting.

Now, for all of the other things:

  • You're dumb. You're so, so aggressively stupid that I often suspect that your brain has been replaced with a frozen turkey dinner.
  • "Use" is a word. "Yous" is not. "Yous guys" isn't an endearing trait of your regional diction, it's a sign the public school system failed you and will assuredly fail your children, as well.
  • "Uses" is a word. "Yous's" is absolutely fucking not. "Yous's" makes you sound like Foghorn Leghorn's concussion-prone cousin. 
  • Your shoes are what's making that noise.
  • Paying off your credit cards is not a bad thing. Refusing to pay more than the minimum amount each month is less "a great way to build your credit rating" and more "a sign I should never, under any circumstances, loan you money."
  • Scotch tape does not adequately replace staples. And it's not, nor has it ever been made of whiskey. Seriously?
  • Bill Paxton was in Twister, Bill Pullman was in Independence Day, and Bill Murray is not someone who should ever be confused with those two.
  • Still your shoes. That noise is still coming from your shoes.

I really do try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. My pockets are full of second chances and my brain space is more than happy to ignore a whole lot of dumbness. If I ask someone their thoughts on the end of Inception--as I'm wont to do--and their response is that "The human life begins immediately after," I don't think "This is a completely irredeemable person whose place in society is somewhere just beneath serial killers." I probably should, but I don't. Instead I think, "This person has either a very strange sense of humor or some acute brain damage that I should be sensitive to in the future."

But there's a caveat--that means "stipulation" or "limitation," Alice--to this social agreement. When I ask if you like The Beatles (the safest of all conversation starters) and you reply that "They're so disgusting, ewww," then elaborating that you "Once squished one under [your] shoe and the smell made [you] throw up..."

My brain can only expel so much stupid at once. When it gets overloaded, some of its higher functions, such as empathy and not stabbing people in the mouth with a pair of rusty scissors tend to shut down. So that happens when someone talks about "stepping on" Ringo Starr. Or asking who Ringo Starr is.

Boy, this is coming off kinda harsh, isn't it? Look, I'm not saying that you are 100 percent of an idiot. But your personality, your actions, and the words you say force me to believe the frozen turkey dinner in your head is rapidly thawing and will soon discharge a steady stream of drool and salmonella from your mouth.

There. That's a nicer way of putting it.

Wishing You A Lifetime of Blissful Ignorance,
Your Coworker