The Redfin Files have been moved to livejournal. If you'd like to find me, please inquire within.
Kthnxbai.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Friday, January 11, 2008
The Airing of Parking Grievances
People who can't park are the stupidest, laziest, most useless group of people on the planet. Honestly, how hard is it to manuever your car into the box marked helpfully for you by BRIGHTLY PAINTED LINES?! Parking is by far and away the simplest aspect of driving, and yet I'm amazed that so many people manage to screw it up on a daily basis.
But, to be fair, there is a scale when it comes to parking difficulty, and it goes like this, from easiest to hardest:
-Angle parking
-Perpendicular parking
-Parallel parking
(And that's not just my thoughts on parking difficulty, them's the facts -- I learned that in driver's ed. That's about one of the only things I remember from that class. Anyway, I digress).
Now, my main beef is with the asshats who can't handle the angle parking.....uh, angle. It's the absolute EASIEST way to park!!! You don't even have to think about it. Your car practically does everything for you -- and you don't even need one of those fancy new self-parking Lexuses. ALL one has to do is turn the wheel ever so slightly, and boom. Done. Car is parked. HOW is this difficult? How do some people STILL manage to park outside of the lines in this type of parking lot? I think a monkey could angle-park a car.
Now then, onto perpendicular parking. Significantly less difficult than parallel parking, but apparently, some people still have trouble with this one as it requires more steering-wheel-turning than angle parking. Clearly, people can't handle that, either. God forbid anyone figure out how to properly swing their car out one way and then turn back into the spot so that they're able to able to pull straight in, without having to do that irritating back-out/readjust/make everyone-waiting-behind-you-to-park-wait-some-more thing. Nor can they figure out how to place their cars into the middle of the spot. Again, you get the people whose cars are half in one spot, half in another. Better yet are the ones in the lines yet so far over to one side that you can't even open the door if you pull in next to them. Stupid fucks.
As for the hardest level, I've got nothing against people who can't parallel park. That shit IS hard. It's not just natural. Why this type of parking space exists is beyond me. It's stupid. I can't do it myself -- yet, I actively avoid situations or streets where I know I would have to parallel park. Rather than look like a jackass and aggravate other drivers, I just steer clear. It's a shame other parkers can't extend the same courtesy when they're unable to park their vehicles.
And those are my parking grievances.
But, to be fair, there is a scale when it comes to parking difficulty, and it goes like this, from easiest to hardest:
-Angle parking
-Perpendicular parking
-Parallel parking
(And that's not just my thoughts on parking difficulty, them's the facts -- I learned that in driver's ed. That's about one of the only things I remember from that class. Anyway, I digress).
Now, my main beef is with the asshats who can't handle the angle parking.....uh, angle. It's the absolute EASIEST way to park!!! You don't even have to think about it. Your car practically does everything for you -- and you don't even need one of those fancy new self-parking Lexuses. ALL one has to do is turn the wheel ever so slightly, and boom. Done. Car is parked. HOW is this difficult? How do some people STILL manage to park outside of the lines in this type of parking lot? I think a monkey could angle-park a car.
Now then, onto perpendicular parking. Significantly less difficult than parallel parking, but apparently, some people still have trouble with this one as it requires more steering-wheel-turning than angle parking. Clearly, people can't handle that, either. God forbid anyone figure out how to properly swing their car out one way and then turn back into the spot so that they're able to able to pull straight in, without having to do that irritating back-out/readjust/make everyone-waiting-behind-you-to-park-wait-some-more thing. Nor can they figure out how to place their cars into the middle of the spot. Again, you get the people whose cars are half in one spot, half in another. Better yet are the ones in the lines yet so far over to one side that you can't even open the door if you pull in next to them. Stupid fucks.
As for the hardest level, I've got nothing against people who can't parallel park. That shit IS hard. It's not just natural. Why this type of parking space exists is beyond me. It's stupid. I can't do it myself -- yet, I actively avoid situations or streets where I know I would have to parallel park. Rather than look like a jackass and aggravate other drivers, I just steer clear. It's a shame other parkers can't extend the same courtesy when they're unable to park their vehicles.
And those are my parking grievances.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Let's Get Physical?
I have never, ever been a person fond of physical exertion. When people ask me how often I workout or go to the gym, I can only laugh. One of my all-time favorite jokes is that I only run if I’m being chased – which, thankfully, has not ever happened.
And I really don’t understand those people who actually claim to enjoy exercising. Between you and me? I think there’s something wrong with them. I suspect brain damage.
My aversion to all things requiring exercise goes way back. As a child, I abhorred gym class to the point that I’d beg and plead for my mother to write excuse notes for me so I could get out of it. Or I’d just simply fake injuries.
When I got a real injury, I milked it for all its get-out-of-gym-free-card-worthiness. Mom had to write notes then! This strategy became increasingly difficult as I got older though, because gym period became a daily thing once I got to middle school. DAILY. GYM. CLASS. The horror. Oh, the horror.
Thankfully, I was genetically blessed enough to the point where I didn’t have to workout to stay slim. That is perhaps the biggest reason I why never established a regular exercise regime – I just plain didn’t have to. I could eat anything and everything I pleased and I never gained weight. God bless a high metabolism. Thanks, Mom! So why on earth would I bother working out if I didn’t have to? There was TV to watch, dammit!
So that all makes the fact that I recently started working out regularly all the more funny to me. ME! The girl who has always hated gym class and physical exertion. Working out! It’s laughable.
What brought me to this, you ask? Good question. I could say it’s because I’m getting older and I’m not as lucky with that ol’ metabolism as I once was, though I still weigh the same. I could say I’m doing it to simply be healthier. But that’d be a lie. It’s not for my health. It’s not even to “feel better about myself,” because everyone knows that’s crap. No, it’s purely for vain reasons.
Now, I’m certainly not fat by any means, but I fear that my mid-twenties and years of college, beer, and fast foot have finally caught up with me. About a month ago, my mom and I had a picture taken together and I was horrified by my appearance. Now, the women in my family have always been naturally thin, yet when we do gain weight; it’s always been in our stomachs. I am no exception. This has always been easy to hide, camouflage or otherwise pretend didn’t exist though. Well not anymore. Not when the photographic evidence was cruelly staring me in the face and telling me otherwise. I had to act. I had to – GASP! –exercise. I couldn’t avoid it anymore.
But working out for someone like me is not an easy thing to do. Not only because I’m naturally lazy or because of the hatred I’ve cultivated for exercise over the years. No, it goes way beyond that. Let me tell you why this recent workout regime has been nothing but a comedy of errors.
#1. I’m a highly impatient person. I expect immediate gratification. Yes, I am THAT person who does cardio for fifteen minutes and then immediately goes to a mirror to see the results. And I’m actually deluded enough to believe there will be a detectable change. Imagine how annoyed my impatient self gets then.
#2. I hate working out in public. Makes sense, right? Someone who hates exercise in general is not going to want to do it in front of others. I am no exception. Nevermind the fact that I have FREE gym access not only at my apartment complex but also in my office building, I will not do those stupid routines in front of other people.
#3. I have an attention span the size of a flea. I get bored and distracted very easily. I shouldn’t be entrusted to work out alone. I don’t have the discipline or the concentration to do so. I cannot concentrate throughout an entire workout video. I will wander away from the TV. And because my impatient side isn’t seeing results, I feel totally justified in doing so.
#4. I don’t have a large apartment. I have about a 7 by 3 foot space in which to exercise. I also have two cats constantly running around the place. Yeah, like I’m really able to get a quality workout in while I’m trying to prevent stepping on and/or tripping over them and falling and breaking my neck.
#5. Perhaps most difficult of all, I am a perfectionist. Everything has to be just so. I’m like Goldilocks. If it’s not right, I’m not happy. This is really funny when I’m trying to work out along with a DVD or TV workout program that I’ve never done before. I get all mad and discouraged and worried that I’m not doing it right, and think, “If I’m not doing it right, I might as well just not do it.”
It's been just over a month since I've started this little project of mine and I still detect no discernible difference. Which of course annoys me. So with apologies to Olivia Newton John, but people who like getting physical are goddamned morons. And if my body could talk? It'd sound something like this, I imagine:
My knees: "For the love of God, stop jumping around. Please, just stop."
My arms: "Put the weights down! Are you crazy?!"
My heart: "If you don't knock off this whole, 'make me beat faster' thing, I'm going to stop on you, I mean it."
My lungs: "Why do you hate us?"
And I really don’t understand those people who actually claim to enjoy exercising. Between you and me? I think there’s something wrong with them. I suspect brain damage.
My aversion to all things requiring exercise goes way back. As a child, I abhorred gym class to the point that I’d beg and plead for my mother to write excuse notes for me so I could get out of it. Or I’d just simply fake injuries.
When I got a real injury, I milked it for all its get-out-of-gym-free-card-worthiness. Mom had to write notes then! This strategy became increasingly difficult as I got older though, because gym period became a daily thing once I got to middle school. DAILY. GYM. CLASS. The horror. Oh, the horror.
Thankfully, I was genetically blessed enough to the point where I didn’t have to workout to stay slim. That is perhaps the biggest reason I why never established a regular exercise regime – I just plain didn’t have to. I could eat anything and everything I pleased and I never gained weight. God bless a high metabolism. Thanks, Mom! So why on earth would I bother working out if I didn’t have to? There was TV to watch, dammit!
So that all makes the fact that I recently started working out regularly all the more funny to me. ME! The girl who has always hated gym class and physical exertion. Working out! It’s laughable.
What brought me to this, you ask? Good question. I could say it’s because I’m getting older and I’m not as lucky with that ol’ metabolism as I once was, though I still weigh the same. I could say I’m doing it to simply be healthier. But that’d be a lie. It’s not for my health. It’s not even to “feel better about myself,” because everyone knows that’s crap. No, it’s purely for vain reasons.
Now, I’m certainly not fat by any means, but I fear that my mid-twenties and years of college, beer, and fast foot have finally caught up with me. About a month ago, my mom and I had a picture taken together and I was horrified by my appearance. Now, the women in my family have always been naturally thin, yet when we do gain weight; it’s always been in our stomachs. I am no exception. This has always been easy to hide, camouflage or otherwise pretend didn’t exist though. Well not anymore. Not when the photographic evidence was cruelly staring me in the face and telling me otherwise. I had to act. I had to – GASP! –exercise. I couldn’t avoid it anymore.
But working out for someone like me is not an easy thing to do. Not only because I’m naturally lazy or because of the hatred I’ve cultivated for exercise over the years. No, it goes way beyond that. Let me tell you why this recent workout regime has been nothing but a comedy of errors.
#1. I’m a highly impatient person. I expect immediate gratification. Yes, I am THAT person who does cardio for fifteen minutes and then immediately goes to a mirror to see the results. And I’m actually deluded enough to believe there will be a detectable change. Imagine how annoyed my impatient self gets then.
#2. I hate working out in public. Makes sense, right? Someone who hates exercise in general is not going to want to do it in front of others. I am no exception. Nevermind the fact that I have FREE gym access not only at my apartment complex but also in my office building, I will not do those stupid routines in front of other people.
#3. I have an attention span the size of a flea. I get bored and distracted very easily. I shouldn’t be entrusted to work out alone. I don’t have the discipline or the concentration to do so. I cannot concentrate throughout an entire workout video. I will wander away from the TV. And because my impatient side isn’t seeing results, I feel totally justified in doing so.
#4. I don’t have a large apartment. I have about a 7 by 3 foot space in which to exercise. I also have two cats constantly running around the place. Yeah, like I’m really able to get a quality workout in while I’m trying to prevent stepping on and/or tripping over them and falling and breaking my neck.
#5. Perhaps most difficult of all, I am a perfectionist. Everything has to be just so. I’m like Goldilocks. If it’s not right, I’m not happy. This is really funny when I’m trying to work out along with a DVD or TV workout program that I’ve never done before. I get all mad and discouraged and worried that I’m not doing it right, and think, “If I’m not doing it right, I might as well just not do it.”
It's been just over a month since I've started this little project of mine and I still detect no discernible difference. Which of course annoys me. So with apologies to Olivia Newton John, but people who like getting physical are goddamned morons. And if my body could talk? It'd sound something like this, I imagine:
My knees: "For the love of God, stop jumping around. Please, just stop."
My arms: "Put the weights down! Are you crazy?!"
My heart: "If you don't knock off this whole, 'make me beat faster' thing, I'm going to stop on you, I mean it."
My lungs: "Why do you hate us?"
Friday, November 2, 2007
It's Always Better to Fire People on a Friday
Subtitle: My Eyes Are Up Here. Or Down Here, as you'll see.
Yes folks, it's about time for another workplace rant. If it's any time between 8am and 4:30 pm (EST) on a weekday, I can guaran-damn-tee you someone is annoying me in some way, shape, or form. And I promise you, it's going to be straight outta Office Space.
Why should today be any different? Because it's a Friday? Pfft. These people don't care. They'll annoy you on a Friday. They're going to annoy you on Wednesday, too. It don't matter to these people.
Today's rant is related to an earlier post where I made mention of a snarky co-worker who was paying a bit too much attention to the content of my computer screen in that it just happened again today, albeit with a different co-worker.
This time, it was much more blatant and obvious. And incredibly rude and irritating. Someone came over to talk to me. (Which, in and of itself, annoys me. I'm happy to just sit here most of the time and surf the Internet in peace. I don't need to be talking to others constantly). But anyway, if you come over to my desk to talk to me, WHY then are you looking at my computer? It's rude to be reading what's on someone's screen, especially while you're attempting to have a conversation with me. And if you're using this "stop and chat" as a ruse to specifically check out what I'm doing, that makes you even more of a douche.
If you want to talk to me, MY EYES ARE DOWN HERE! (ya know, since I'm sitting at a desk, and they're standing....get it?) If you don't look at me at all while we're talking, I don't want to fucking talk to you. Go away and let me get back to wasting time on the Internet. Thank you.
While I'm on the subject, if you are talking to someone who sits near me, why in the hell are you looking at ME? It's rude to the person you're talking to. Am I really that fascinating and captivating where I and all of my activities must be so closely watched? I think not.
So, as Kramer might say -- Look away, you're hideous! (yes I know he says 'I'm hideous.' But I'm not. So that version didn't work for this story). My activities are not now, nor will they ever be, your concern. Jesus. What happened to the simple days when you just had to hide your non-work Internet-tal activities from your boss? Now you have to include of your nosy co-workers too? This over-interest will not stand, man.
Yes folks, it's about time for another workplace rant. If it's any time between 8am and 4:30 pm (EST) on a weekday, I can guaran-damn-tee you someone is annoying me in some way, shape, or form. And I promise you, it's going to be straight outta Office Space.
Why should today be any different? Because it's a Friday? Pfft. These people don't care. They'll annoy you on a Friday. They're going to annoy you on Wednesday, too. It don't matter to these people.
Today's rant is related to an earlier post where I made mention of a snarky co-worker who was paying a bit too much attention to the content of my computer screen in that it just happened again today, albeit with a different co-worker.
This time, it was much more blatant and obvious. And incredibly rude and irritating. Someone came over to talk to me. (Which, in and of itself, annoys me. I'm happy to just sit here most of the time and surf the Internet in peace. I don't need to be talking to others constantly). But anyway, if you come over to my desk to talk to me, WHY then are you looking at my computer? It's rude to be reading what's on someone's screen, especially while you're attempting to have a conversation with me. And if you're using this "stop and chat" as a ruse to specifically check out what I'm doing, that makes you even more of a douche.
If you want to talk to me, MY EYES ARE DOWN HERE! (ya know, since I'm sitting at a desk, and they're standing....get it?) If you don't look at me at all while we're talking, I don't want to fucking talk to you. Go away and let me get back to wasting time on the Internet. Thank you.
While I'm on the subject, if you are talking to someone who sits near me, why in the hell are you looking at ME? It's rude to the person you're talking to. Am I really that fascinating and captivating where I and all of my activities must be so closely watched? I think not.
So, as Kramer might say -- Look away, you're hideous! (yes I know he says 'I'm hideous.' But I'm not. So that version didn't work for this story). My activities are not now, nor will they ever be, your concern. Jesus. What happened to the simple days when you just had to hide your non-work Internet-tal activities from your boss? Now you have to include of your nosy co-workers too? This over-interest will not stand, man.
Say Thank You!
Time for an understatment: I'm not the nicest person in the world. I can admit it. I'm not ashamed. I own my bitchiness and wear it proudly. I embrace my attitude and impatience.
However, this does not mean I'm an impolite heathen. I still have basic manners and I observe the standard common courtesies -- respecting personal space, refraining from loud personal cell phone calls in public, holding the door for people. (Although, I must note that I will not wait with the door open if you are more than a few steps behind me. Unless you are attractive. In which case, take your time so I can stare at you some more).
But the most fundamental examples of good manners are the words "please" and "thank you" in addition to knowing when to say these things. Now, admittedly, I'm not very good with "please." I prefer to think that phrasing a request in an overall polite tone is enough of an indicator of "please." If you get this tone just right, "please" is superfluous. But I digress.
"Thank you" is the important one. (Especially for the point of this blog entry). How hard is it to say? How hard is it to show appreciation for something somebody did for you? It's just two tiny little words. You don't even have to be genuinely grateful to say the words. Of course, that helps, but it's not a prerequisite. It's like saying, "Yes, your baby is cute." Or, "No, those pants don't make your ass look fat." Or, "Wow, your new haircut is great and it in no way makes you look like a 12 year old boy." How you really feel isn't as important as the words that come out of your mouth.
I certainly don't care if people are genuine in their thanks to me. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't still like to hear it, especially if I just held the elevator for someone, even though I easily could have -- and wanted to -- hit the "close door" button. But no, I was feeling unusually charitable this morning, and upon hearing someone running behind me, huffing and puffing to get to the bank of elevators, I figured, "what the hell, I'll hold the door and wait for them." Had I known the bitch would have gotten on wordlessly, with nary a glance or other such acknowledgement of gratitude in my direction, I never would have done so. I don't care if you're out of breath from running. You should still be able to squeak out the words, "thank you." And if you cannot, drop a few or leave earlier. It's that simple. But hell, I even would have taken a flashed smile in place of actual verbal gratitude. If you can't even muster that, you deserve to have the elevator close on your head.
Honestly. SAY SOMETHING. DO SOMETHING. Don't act all like you're all entitled or some shit, like it's my job to hold the door and wait for your ass. That's the only thing I can think of that explains staying silent when someone does something they didn't have to do for you. Well guess what? You're not entitled. I don't have to do anything nice for you.
For anyone wondering, yes, I did let my attitude show once it was clear I was not going to get an acknowledgement for my unnecessary good deed. As I got off at my floor, I turned and said, "You could have said thank you for holding the elevator." The girl stammered out an "I'm sorry" and then gave a "thank you." I almost immediately felt bad for my bitchy attitude, but come on. That was too little, too late. As much of a bitch as I am, at least I'm not uncouth. I may not always mean it, but at least I never forget to SAY THANK YOU!
However, this does not mean I'm an impolite heathen. I still have basic manners and I observe the standard common courtesies -- respecting personal space, refraining from loud personal cell phone calls in public, holding the door for people. (Although, I must note that I will not wait with the door open if you are more than a few steps behind me. Unless you are attractive. In which case, take your time so I can stare at you some more).
But the most fundamental examples of good manners are the words "please" and "thank you" in addition to knowing when to say these things. Now, admittedly, I'm not very good with "please." I prefer to think that phrasing a request in an overall polite tone is enough of an indicator of "please." If you get this tone just right, "please" is superfluous. But I digress.
"Thank you" is the important one. (Especially for the point of this blog entry). How hard is it to say? How hard is it to show appreciation for something somebody did for you? It's just two tiny little words. You don't even have to be genuinely grateful to say the words. Of course, that helps, but it's not a prerequisite. It's like saying, "Yes, your baby is cute." Or, "No, those pants don't make your ass look fat." Or, "Wow, your new haircut is great and it in no way makes you look like a 12 year old boy." How you really feel isn't as important as the words that come out of your mouth.
I certainly don't care if people are genuine in their thanks to me. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't still like to hear it, especially if I just held the elevator for someone, even though I easily could have -- and wanted to -- hit the "close door" button. But no, I was feeling unusually charitable this morning, and upon hearing someone running behind me, huffing and puffing to get to the bank of elevators, I figured, "what the hell, I'll hold the door and wait for them." Had I known the bitch would have gotten on wordlessly, with nary a glance or other such acknowledgement of gratitude in my direction, I never would have done so. I don't care if you're out of breath from running. You should still be able to squeak out the words, "thank you." And if you cannot, drop a few or leave earlier. It's that simple. But hell, I even would have taken a flashed smile in place of actual verbal gratitude. If you can't even muster that, you deserve to have the elevator close on your head.
Honestly. SAY SOMETHING. DO SOMETHING. Don't act all like you're all entitled or some shit, like it's my job to hold the door and wait for your ass. That's the only thing I can think of that explains staying silent when someone does something they didn't have to do for you. Well guess what? You're not entitled. I don't have to do anything nice for you.
For anyone wondering, yes, I did let my attitude show once it was clear I was not going to get an acknowledgement for my unnecessary good deed. As I got off at my floor, I turned and said, "You could have said thank you for holding the elevator." The girl stammered out an "I'm sorry" and then gave a "thank you." I almost immediately felt bad for my bitchy attitude, but come on. That was too little, too late. As much of a bitch as I am, at least I'm not uncouth. I may not always mean it, but at least I never forget to SAY THANK YOU!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
PC Load Letter? What the Fuck Does That Mean?
Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking. Just a moment.
Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking. Just a moment.
Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking. Just a moment.
Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking. Just a moment.
Yeah, I just stare at my desk; but it looks like I'm working. I do that for probably another hour after lunch, too. I'd say in a given week I probably only do about fifteen minutes of real, actual, work.
When I make a mistake, I have eight different people coming by to tell me about it. That's my only real motivation is not to be hassled; that, and the fear of losing my job. But you know, Bob, that will only make someone work just hard enough not to get fired.
In case you couldn’t tell by now, I am trapped in an episode of Office Space today. You know, if Office Space were a TV show that even had episodes….anyway, you get my point. Today I am Peter Gibbons and my co-workers are all Ninas from corporate accounts payable. And I want to hurt them.
Today’s Office Space plots:
-- We have a team distribution email list. We all get the emails. We all know how to read. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be working here, right? Right. So, if someone gets here at 8 AM (*ahem: ME), and you get here at 9 AM, wouldn’t you assume I’ve already read those emails? Because I did. Why then would you insist on reading those GD emails OUT LOUD? Why? Just why? I don’t get it.
-- Since when did my desk suddenly become some sort of happening hot spot around which all conversations must take place? I mean, I know I’m absolutely fabulous, but must you stand in my area while you participate in your lame excuse for water cooler talk? If you’re not served in a frosty glass, please stay at least four feet away from me at all times. Thank you.
-- Furthering the above point, just because I happen to be sitting nearby does not mean I automatically want or need to be included in your conversations. If I don’t turn to you and acknowledge your presence, you should assume I am not listening to you. Additionally, just because our desks are all open to one another does not mandate that we must speak to each other at all times of the day. Silence is golden.
-- Further furthering the above point, if someone sits right next to you, why are you speaking so loudly? Because I’m pretty sure you can be heard from outer space. Dial it down, why don’t you?
-- Lastly, but certainly not least, it’s Halloween today. Which means of course that the Social Committee is flitting about, wondering where they left last year’s lame-ass plastic pumpkin decorations. Well it’s not going to be in the desk right behind me, because up until about 2 months ago, that was occupied by a person. Why then do you insist on banging around in that desk’s drawers looking for something you know full well is not there?
-- And while I’m ranting against the social committee, I’m not on the goddamn social committee. Why are you asking me about things that the social committee traditionally handles? Oh, because you ‘volunteered’ me for it, against my will? Don’t think so. Voluntarily means I elect not to participate in your insipid activities. In the words of Jerry Seinfeld, I choose not to run.
I suppose this is what I get for working for a large corporation. Next thing you know, I’ll be asked to be wear 37 pieces of flair while I’m in my cubicle. ARGH!!!
I’m off to find some free Halloween chocolate. Maybe that will cheer me up. But, the ratio of people to candy is too big, and the last time we had cake in the office, I was told to pass, and I did not receive a piece of my own....excuse me I believe you have my stapler....and I could set the building on fire....
SAY HELLO TO LUMBERGH FOR ME!
Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking. Just a moment.
Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking. Just a moment.
Corporate accounts payable, Nina speaking. Just a moment.
Yeah, I just stare at my desk; but it looks like I'm working. I do that for probably another hour after lunch, too. I'd say in a given week I probably only do about fifteen minutes of real, actual, work.
When I make a mistake, I have eight different people coming by to tell me about it. That's my only real motivation is not to be hassled; that, and the fear of losing my job. But you know, Bob, that will only make someone work just hard enough not to get fired.
In case you couldn’t tell by now, I am trapped in an episode of Office Space today. You know, if Office Space were a TV show that even had episodes….anyway, you get my point. Today I am Peter Gibbons and my co-workers are all Ninas from corporate accounts payable. And I want to hurt them.
Today’s Office Space plots:
-- We have a team distribution email list. We all get the emails. We all know how to read. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be working here, right? Right. So, if someone gets here at 8 AM (*ahem: ME), and you get here at 9 AM, wouldn’t you assume I’ve already read those emails? Because I did. Why then would you insist on reading those GD emails OUT LOUD? Why? Just why? I don’t get it.
-- Since when did my desk suddenly become some sort of happening hot spot around which all conversations must take place? I mean, I know I’m absolutely fabulous, but must you stand in my area while you participate in your lame excuse for water cooler talk? If you’re not served in a frosty glass, please stay at least four feet away from me at all times. Thank you.
-- Furthering the above point, just because I happen to be sitting nearby does not mean I automatically want or need to be included in your conversations. If I don’t turn to you and acknowledge your presence, you should assume I am not listening to you. Additionally, just because our desks are all open to one another does not mandate that we must speak to each other at all times of the day. Silence is golden.
-- Further furthering the above point, if someone sits right next to you, why are you speaking so loudly? Because I’m pretty sure you can be heard from outer space. Dial it down, why don’t you?
-- Lastly, but certainly not least, it’s Halloween today. Which means of course that the Social Committee is flitting about, wondering where they left last year’s lame-ass plastic pumpkin decorations. Well it’s not going to be in the desk right behind me, because up until about 2 months ago, that was occupied by a person. Why then do you insist on banging around in that desk’s drawers looking for something you know full well is not there?
-- And while I’m ranting against the social committee, I’m not on the goddamn social committee. Why are you asking me about things that the social committee traditionally handles? Oh, because you ‘volunteered’ me for it, against my will? Don’t think so. Voluntarily means I elect not to participate in your insipid activities. In the words of Jerry Seinfeld, I choose not to run.
I suppose this is what I get for working for a large corporation. Next thing you know, I’ll be asked to be wear 37 pieces of flair while I’m in my cubicle. ARGH!!!
I’m off to find some free Halloween chocolate. Maybe that will cheer me up. But, the ratio of people to candy is too big, and the last time we had cake in the office, I was told to pass, and I did not receive a piece of my own....excuse me I believe you have my stapler....and I could set the building on fire....
SAY HELLO TO LUMBERGH FOR ME!
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Is This A.....What Day is This?
I'll tell you what day it is.....it is a Monday in disguise. I knew yesterday's 'good Monday' was a fluke. I should know better. No good Monday goes unpunished. There's no such thing as a good Monday! Monday will just manifest its suckitude on another day. Today is that day. Monday was just waiting an extra day to arrive. It was just lulling us into a false sense of hope that maybe this week wouldn't be so bad after all.
Tuesday is the new Monday. At least for this week.
Maybe I wouldn't feel this way if I hadn't been awakened at 5:33 AM, a full thirty-eight minutes ahead of my alarm by a noise in my ceiling. And not just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill apartment-ceiling noise. That I could handle. No, this was a deliberate and repetitive sound that went on for nearly 15 minutes before finally stopping. A noise something akin to people practicing a figure skating routine with two-by-fours strapped to their feet. The strange thing is that my apartment building has concrete between the floors specifically to guard against such errant noises. I typically can't tell when the clod-hoppers upstairs are plodding towards their refrigerator for a snack while the Jerry Springer show is on a commercial break. So this must have been something in between the ceiling and the concrete. And lucky me, it had to be right above my $%#*ing bedroom.
Good times. (I hope you're picking up on my sarcasm).
I still had hope this day could be salvaged though. Even with the fact that my fantasy football team wound up losing AGAIN this week, I still had hope that Tuesday would not retroactively become Monday. But remember how I take public transportation to work every day?
Yeah.
So there I am, in one of the "three-seater" seats, sitting happily all by myself until about halfway through the ride. It's incredibly rare to have a seat to yourself the entire morning commute, and I've come to accept this. But just because you have to share a seat with someone does not mean you have to sit right on top of them, right? Well apparently, there is a girl on my train who doesn't agree with this. Or she's not aware of the love all normal Americans have for their personal space. Either way, I hate her. She's sat with me on a total of four occasions including today, and each time she has, she will slide into the middle portion of the seat, thereby sitting rightontopofme despite the fact that there's plenty of room for her to STAY ON THE OTHER SIDE!!!
Am I wrong? Am I just letting my childhood backseat behavior and experience with my brother manifest itself into my adulthood? You know what I'm talking about. The whole routine siblings had for surviving the backseat on long car trips to Grandma's house. The proverbial, but very much real, line down the middle of the car that marked your respective territories.. Across this line, you DO NOT. This is my dance space, that is your dance space. The threat of punishment rendered if any sibling violated this most-sacred piece of backseat etiquette was so severe, no one dared to even get close to the middle of the seats. We'd wedge ourselves as close to the walls of the car as possible.
What happened to this custom? I propose an immediate re-institution of this policy on all modes of public transportation.
That's the exact reason I choose the "three-seater" seats in the first place. And I put that in quotes because, let's face it, the "two-seater" seats aren't big enough for 2 people and the same holds true for the "three-seater" ones. The reality is, they're for 2 people. It's uncomfortable when three people have to sit there. Therefore, when you sit down in a "three-seater" where one person already is, why oh WHY would you move closer to that person? It just doesn't make sense to me. Have we learned nothing from Seinfeld and the close-talker? People don't want to sit right next to strangers on the train! This is the exact reason why Hitchcock's "Strangers on a Train" would never work today -- nobody talks to each other on the train, and that's the way we like it.
So needless to say, the close train-sitter further soured my morning. I have to say though, venting on this blog has made me feel slightly better though. That's a plus.
Tuesday is the new Monday. At least for this week.
Maybe I wouldn't feel this way if I hadn't been awakened at 5:33 AM, a full thirty-eight minutes ahead of my alarm by a noise in my ceiling. And not just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill apartment-ceiling noise. That I could handle. No, this was a deliberate and repetitive sound that went on for nearly 15 minutes before finally stopping. A noise something akin to people practicing a figure skating routine with two-by-fours strapped to their feet. The strange thing is that my apartment building has concrete between the floors specifically to guard against such errant noises. I typically can't tell when the clod-hoppers upstairs are plodding towards their refrigerator for a snack while the Jerry Springer show is on a commercial break. So this must have been something in between the ceiling and the concrete. And lucky me, it had to be right above my $%#*ing bedroom.
Good times. (I hope you're picking up on my sarcasm).
I still had hope this day could be salvaged though. Even with the fact that my fantasy football team wound up losing AGAIN this week, I still had hope that Tuesday would not retroactively become Monday. But remember how I take public transportation to work every day?
Yeah.
So there I am, in one of the "three-seater" seats, sitting happily all by myself until about halfway through the ride. It's incredibly rare to have a seat to yourself the entire morning commute, and I've come to accept this. But just because you have to share a seat with someone does not mean you have to sit right on top of them, right? Well apparently, there is a girl on my train who doesn't agree with this. Or she's not aware of the love all normal Americans have for their personal space. Either way, I hate her. She's sat with me on a total of four occasions including today, and each time she has, she will slide into the middle portion of the seat, thereby sitting rightontopofme despite the fact that there's plenty of room for her to STAY ON THE OTHER SIDE!!!
Am I wrong? Am I just letting my childhood backseat behavior and experience with my brother manifest itself into my adulthood? You know what I'm talking about. The whole routine siblings had for surviving the backseat on long car trips to Grandma's house. The proverbial, but very much real, line down the middle of the car that marked your respective territories.. Across this line, you DO NOT. This is my dance space, that is your dance space. The threat of punishment rendered if any sibling violated this most-sacred piece of backseat etiquette was so severe, no one dared to even get close to the middle of the seats. We'd wedge ourselves as close to the walls of the car as possible.
What happened to this custom? I propose an immediate re-institution of this policy on all modes of public transportation.
That's the exact reason I choose the "three-seater" seats in the first place. And I put that in quotes because, let's face it, the "two-seater" seats aren't big enough for 2 people and the same holds true for the "three-seater" ones. The reality is, they're for 2 people. It's uncomfortable when three people have to sit there. Therefore, when you sit down in a "three-seater" where one person already is, why oh WHY would you move closer to that person? It just doesn't make sense to me. Have we learned nothing from Seinfeld and the close-talker? People don't want to sit right next to strangers on the train! This is the exact reason why Hitchcock's "Strangers on a Train" would never work today -- nobody talks to each other on the train, and that's the way we like it.
So needless to say, the close train-sitter further soured my morning. I have to say though, venting on this blog has made me feel slightly better though. That's a plus.
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