Boy, all this work stuff's pretty hard, huh?
Yep. It sure is.
What is this whole work thing, anyways? I mean, isn't this whole concept of labor just something perpetuated by the man to make us forget about the truly beautiful and enlightening things happening all around us? And aren't there so many more things you'd rather be doing than working? Working for the man?
That's probably not how you pictured yourself when you were a kid, right? As some office drone or clerical robot or the faceless recipient of boring responsibilities and mindless tasks. And yet, here you are, trapped in a world that demands hours upon hours of monotonous effort if you want that paycheck at the end of the week. If you want that money for your motor carriage payments. If you want those dollars for your drinking habit. If you want that cash for your canned vegetables and your club sandwiches and your cones of cream. You have to work for it.
I know it's not pleasant to hear. It's like raping your earholes with a bag full of brutally honest dicks, isn't it? But sometimes the truth stings. Well, if that little nugget of truth was an unwelcome and unlubricated intruder, you're going to want to brace yourself.
This work thing you're supposed to do...we all have to do it.
Hey--
I know--
Just--
Stop it. Stop interrupting. I know you're flabbergasted by this revelation but just, please, let me continue this note and stop shouting at all the words. Thank you.
Anywho, as it turns out, those crappy, soul-crushing things you have to do every day are the same crappy, soul-crushing things that we've all been doing for quite a while now. The key difference here, of course, is that we legitimately do these things, rather than simply complaining about having to do them. On that note, I don't think you fully comprehend how the complaining process works. If you're not going to do the things you're complaining about having to do, then do you really need to complain about them? (This isn't a riddle. The answer is no.)
Ready for another mind-blower? All those tedious tasks that get under your skin, they don't go away when you shout at them, no matter how many obscene words and gestures you use. They're still there when you walk away in a huff and they're even still there when you clock out half an hour early. And guess what? They have to get done at some point. And your coworkers--the responsible ones who complain about doing stuff while actually doing that same stuff--are the ones who pay the price for it.
Clearly, a solution is needed. A reward system? Could we do something like that? How about we put together a nice little reward system? You know, like in kindergarten with the gold stars and the juiceboxes and whatnot? I'm all about giving kudos when they're due, so let's say that for every day of honest-to-goodness work you do, I won't stomp in one of your internal organs.
See? Now you're not just earning a paycheck, you're adding years onto your life, too!
We'll put this into effect immediately. Tomorrow, if you're a good little worker, I'll spare your kidneys. And we'll just play it by ear after that.
Hopefully and helpfully,
Your coworker
Proof that the workforce breeds equal amounts cruelty and stupidity.
4/20/2012
Nicknames
Dylan,
I'm not going to call you "Dyl Pickle." I get what you're going for (Dylan = Dill + Pickle = Dyl Pickle), but that's a stupid nickname. Stop trying to get that to catch on.
However, if you see Stewart, tell him I'm fully on board to call him Stew Meat. That's hilarious.
- Your regularly-named coworker
I'm not going to call you "Dyl Pickle." I get what you're going for (Dylan = Dill + Pickle = Dyl Pickle), but that's a stupid nickname. Stop trying to get that to catch on.
However, if you see Stewart, tell him I'm fully on board to call him Stew Meat. That's hilarious.
- Your regularly-named coworker
4/10/2012
Your "Dating" Situation
Suzanne,
I checked into that thing you wanted me to check into. (You know, the uh...the "boyfriend" thing.) And it turns out it would cost about $800 just for one night. So you tell me if you think it's worth it and I'll get back in touch with the business proprietor to let him know the when and where.
Now, just as a second thought, you realize that there are cheaper options out there, right? I mean, the "boyfriend" you were looking into was top-notch, Chippendale quality wiener. Not that I'm saying you're only interested in this type of "date" for his Dr. Strangelove, but I'm sure that's an important element. Am I right?
So, the thing is, this "boyfriend" is top tier, Dawson's Creek level of dreamy, too. And that's why the price is so outrageous. (I mean, you didn't think a dreamboat the caliber of James Van Der Beek circa 2001 with a schlong the caliber of Ron Jeremy circa 1974 was going to give up his stuff for pocket change, did you?) If you're genuinely willing to shell out the big bucks, he's just a phone call away.
However...
There are other options out there. Not to sound harsh but...do you really need a Van Der Beek? I've always pictured you more as a Joshua Jackson gal anyways, and trust me, that's still a major step up. I've never seen Joshua devour a rotisserie chicken like it was seconds away from spoiling. (Although, now that I think about it, that might be a turn-on for some guys out there.)
Still, I'm thinking we need to realistically reevaluate your expectations. For example, have you considered the gentlemen who run ads on Craigslist? They seem quite nice, aside from their gratuitous use of words like "bang" and "splooge," and they're a much more cost-effective way to get the job done. Also, there's Danny. Come on, I know you guys have had your differences in the past--and I'm sure he regrets forwarding that picture of your camel toe to the entire office--but I think if you stuck a couple drinks into him he'd be really into it. So, figure $10 at Happy Hour for a Danny or $800 on the dream hunk from the "legitimate business." (Or, like $70 for one of the Craigslist guys. Seriously, that still seems like a steal.)
Anyways, do me a favor and think about it for a little while. Maybe shoot Danny an email and get the small talk going. Then ask him to go out some night and bang.
Let me know what you decide.
- Your coworker (and pimp, apparently)
I checked into that thing you wanted me to check into. (You know, the uh...the "boyfriend" thing.) And it turns out it would cost about $800 just for one night. So you tell me if you think it's worth it and I'll get back in touch with the business proprietor to let him know the when and where.
Now, just as a second thought, you realize that there are cheaper options out there, right? I mean, the "boyfriend" you were looking into was top-notch, Chippendale quality wiener. Not that I'm saying you're only interested in this type of "date" for his Dr. Strangelove, but I'm sure that's an important element. Am I right?
So, the thing is, this "boyfriend" is top tier, Dawson's Creek level of dreamy, too. And that's why the price is so outrageous. (I mean, you didn't think a dreamboat the caliber of James Van Der Beek circa 2001 with a schlong the caliber of Ron Jeremy circa 1974 was going to give up his stuff for pocket change, did you?) If you're genuinely willing to shell out the big bucks, he's just a phone call away.
However...
There are other options out there. Not to sound harsh but...do you really need a Van Der Beek? I've always pictured you more as a Joshua Jackson gal anyways, and trust me, that's still a major step up. I've never seen Joshua devour a rotisserie chicken like it was seconds away from spoiling. (Although, now that I think about it, that might be a turn-on for some guys out there.)
Still, I'm thinking we need to realistically reevaluate your expectations. For example, have you considered the gentlemen who run ads on Craigslist? They seem quite nice, aside from their gratuitous use of words like "bang" and "splooge," and they're a much more cost-effective way to get the job done. Also, there's Danny. Come on, I know you guys have had your differences in the past--and I'm sure he regrets forwarding that picture of your camel toe to the entire office--but I think if you stuck a couple drinks into him he'd be really into it. So, figure $10 at Happy Hour for a Danny or $800 on the dream hunk from the "legitimate business." (Or, like $70 for one of the Craigslist guys. Seriously, that still seems like a steal.)
Anyways, do me a favor and think about it for a little while. Maybe shoot Danny an email and get the small talk going. Then ask him to go out some night and bang.
Let me know what you decide.
- Your coworker (and pimp, apparently)
4/03/2012
Curry Keyboard
Allen,
Next time you toot, could you point it away from my keyboard? I've wiped it down four times and my finger still smells like "used" chicken curry every time I hit the n key.
Thanks,
Your coworker
Next time you toot, could you point it away from my keyboard? I've wiped it down four times and my finger still smells like "used" chicken curry every time I hit the n key.
Thanks,
Your coworker
4/01/2012
April Fools?
Max,
All right. I'm going to ask you this one time and you'd better tell me the truth...
Did you take my fucking White-Out? Seriously, asshole. I'm not playing around here. I need my White-Out.
I can't find it. And you had access to it. If you have it, give it back to me promptly before I smash your teeth in. Hand to God, I'll do it. I didn't pay $6.99 for the "extra smooth, extra coverage" stuff just to have some dickwad with a Bachelor's Degree in ass-sniffing come along and swipe it.
Oh, and if this is an April Fool's joke, know that my retaliatory response won't involve your office supplies. But it will involve your banging hot wife. I might just have to White-Out her face, if you know what I mean. (If you don't know what I mean, there's a drawing on the back of this note that should explain it better.)
In short, give that shit back.
Waiting with bated breath and clenched fists,
Your coworker
P.S. If you don't have it, please disregard this note. (Still take a look at the drawing, though. That might happen regardless.)
All right. I'm going to ask you this one time and you'd better tell me the truth...
Did you take my fucking White-Out? Seriously, asshole. I'm not playing around here. I need my White-Out.
I can't find it. And you had access to it. If you have it, give it back to me promptly before I smash your teeth in. Hand to God, I'll do it. I didn't pay $6.99 for the "extra smooth, extra coverage" stuff just to have some dickwad with a Bachelor's Degree in ass-sniffing come along and swipe it.
Oh, and if this is an April Fool's joke, know that my retaliatory response won't involve your office supplies. But it will involve your banging hot wife. I might just have to White-Out her face, if you know what I mean. (If you don't know what I mean, there's a drawing on the back of this note that should explain it better.)
In short, give that shit back.
Waiting with bated breath and clenched fists,
Your coworker
P.S. If you don't have it, please disregard this note. (Still take a look at the drawing, though. That might happen regardless.)
3/28/2012
About Your Keen Interest in My Personal Life
Dear Ron,
How are things? This weather we've been having lately has been just beautiful, hasn't it? There's nothing quite like waking up in the morning to a warm breeze and the sound of birds chirping. (Unless those birds just started nesting in your gutters. Good luck trying to rid yourself of that situation, am I right?)
Say, I just heard your daughter's selling those cookies again for a fundraiser. Me and the wife have been craving those little coconut things ever since we finished off our order from last year. So sign us up for double this time!
Now...see what I did there?
No prying questions about what you did last night or plan on doing tonight. No planning of future endeavors with our families. No prodding about your life in any too-specific manner. It's the definition of small talk, which is something I've been meaning to explain to you for the longest time, but doing so coincidentally goes beyond the boundaries of small talk, thus violating my own rule.
Well, your invitation to go camping this weekend got me thinking that an exception needs to be made with this rule.
Let me back up for a second. There's a reason I haven't friended you on Facebook. It's because we work together. We're coworkers. That's all. I have nothing against you, personally, aside from the fact that you keep trying to get to know me...personally. Don't misunderstand, if you're curious what I thought of last night's American Idol or how that garden project of mine is coming, feel free to ask. And I'm more than happy to swap stories about the recent increase in employee lunch theft because that's related to work. And that's how I know you.
...From work.
See, we didn't go to high school together, grow up in the same city, or attend the same space camp as children. So it's bewildering that you keep talking to me as if we've known each other since we were fetuses. (Regardless of what your mother's womb told you, we were never BFFs.) You have to understand there's a pretty thick line between casual chat and personal intrusion that, as my coworker, you should be able to navigate better. For instance, I didn't think much of it when you suggested the next time I grill steaks that I try marinating them in beer for a few hours. On the other hand, when you forwarded me a list of all the local cooking classes you've been dying to take with a partner...
.
What I'm saying is, don't expect an invitation to one of my barbecues any time soon. I'm not saying that because I dislike you as a person so much as I dislike the idea of you being my friend. Let me reiterate: I do not hate you. But I don't think I'd particularly enjoy you outside of work, either. You're a see-you-at-the-office kind of person is all.
You're not going to change my mind by "subtly" hinting that you bought way too much beer for this weekend and could really use somebody to help drink it. Granted, I'll give you points for appealing to my inner alcoholic, but if your true intention is to get rid of a few excess cold ones, why don't you just go ahead and drop them off at my front door? That would be neat.
So please, in the future, let's try to keep this relationship casual. And by casual I mean let's communicate through email from now on.
See you around the office,
Your coworker
How are things? This weather we've been having lately has been just beautiful, hasn't it? There's nothing quite like waking up in the morning to a warm breeze and the sound of birds chirping. (Unless those birds just started nesting in your gutters. Good luck trying to rid yourself of that situation, am I right?)
Say, I just heard your daughter's selling those cookies again for a fundraiser. Me and the wife have been craving those little coconut things ever since we finished off our order from last year. So sign us up for double this time!
Now...see what I did there?
No prying questions about what you did last night or plan on doing tonight. No planning of future endeavors with our families. No prodding about your life in any too-specific manner. It's the definition of small talk, which is something I've been meaning to explain to you for the longest time, but doing so coincidentally goes beyond the boundaries of small talk, thus violating my own rule.
Well, your invitation to go camping this weekend got me thinking that an exception needs to be made with this rule.
Let me back up for a second. There's a reason I haven't friended you on Facebook. It's because we work together. We're coworkers. That's all. I have nothing against you, personally, aside from the fact that you keep trying to get to know me...personally. Don't misunderstand, if you're curious what I thought of last night's American Idol or how that garden project of mine is coming, feel free to ask. And I'm more than happy to swap stories about the recent increase in employee lunch theft because that's related to work. And that's how I know you.
...From work.
See, we didn't go to high school together, grow up in the same city, or attend the same space camp as children. So it's bewildering that you keep talking to me as if we've known each other since we were fetuses. (Regardless of what your mother's womb told you, we were never BFFs.) You have to understand there's a pretty thick line between casual chat and personal intrusion that, as my coworker, you should be able to navigate better. For instance, I didn't think much of it when you suggested the next time I grill steaks that I try marinating them in beer for a few hours. On the other hand, when you forwarded me a list of all the local cooking classes you've been dying to take with a partner...
.
What I'm saying is, don't expect an invitation to one of my barbecues any time soon. I'm not saying that because I dislike you as a person so much as I dislike the idea of you being my friend. Let me reiterate: I do not hate you. But I don't think I'd particularly enjoy you outside of work, either. You're a see-you-at-the-office kind of person is all.
You're not going to change my mind by "subtly" hinting that you bought way too much beer for this weekend and could really use somebody to help drink it. Granted, I'll give you points for appealing to my inner alcoholic, but if your true intention is to get rid of a few excess cold ones, why don't you just go ahead and drop them off at my front door? That would be neat.
So please, in the future, let's try to keep this relationship casual. And by casual I mean let's communicate through email from now on.
See you around the office,
Your coworker
3/23/2012
re: Vacation Request Denied
Hey boss,
I noticed that my vacation request for next week was denied. That's a real bummer, you see, because I had major plans coming up for that week. But you already knew that; you read my request.
So I have just one question: do the words "Saved by the Bell marathon" mean nothing to you?
Maybe I understated it when I wrote "Saved by the Bell marathon!!!!" as my reason for needing some time off. First of all, I should have used at least another three exclamation points to describe the importance of such an epic vacation. But I left its importance subtly implied, so I'll concede that was probably my mistake.
But I truly need these days off. As you may know, it's been a stressful few months and...I don't know, it would just really help me, personally, to take a few dozen hours and watch Kelly Kapowski play beach volleyball or sing along with Jessie Spano's rendition of "I'm So Excited." And I'm prepared to spend every hour of the next few days trying to convince you that I deserve this.
Would it sway you at all if I told you they were even including The College Years episodes? Are you one of those SBTB fans?
Also, if it makes you feel any better about letting me take time off for this, what you might call "silliness," I know for a fact that several other people have done and will be doing the exact same thing. So quit hating on my vacation or I'll be forced to pull a patented Zach Morris Timeout (which would involve me throwing up the "T sign" just before throwing my elbow into your face).
To be clear, I don't want it to escalate to that.
Dutifully,
Your "preppie" employee
I noticed that my vacation request for next week was denied. That's a real bummer, you see, because I had major plans coming up for that week. But you already knew that; you read my request.
So I have just one question: do the words "Saved by the Bell marathon" mean nothing to you?
Maybe I understated it when I wrote "Saved by the Bell marathon!!!!" as my reason for needing some time off. First of all, I should have used at least another three exclamation points to describe the importance of such an epic vacation. But I left its importance subtly implied, so I'll concede that was probably my mistake.
But I truly need these days off. As you may know, it's been a stressful few months and...I don't know, it would just really help me, personally, to take a few dozen hours and watch Kelly Kapowski play beach volleyball or sing along with Jessie Spano's rendition of "I'm So Excited." And I'm prepared to spend every hour of the next few days trying to convince you that I deserve this.
Would it sway you at all if I told you they were even including The College Years episodes? Are you one of those SBTB fans?
Also, if it makes you feel any better about letting me take time off for this, what you might call "silliness," I know for a fact that several other people have done and will be doing the exact same thing. So quit hating on my vacation or I'll be forced to pull a patented Zach Morris Timeout (which would involve me throwing up the "T sign" just before throwing my elbow into your face).
To be clear, I don't want it to escalate to that.
Dutifully,
Your "preppie" employee
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