Some BS Smells Fishy, but that’s to be Expected

When we last met, I remember showing the world my backside as I ran away frantically from a job that scared the bajeezies out of me (granted, this could have been a dream I had last night with me quitting theatrically by mooning the president of the company while eating a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich and chugging a beer; but for the sake of argument we’ll just pretend this dream really happened). It wasn’t necessarily the job itself, though I wasn’t particularly a huge fan of working, but rather it was the people. People with issues bigger than my weekend ego after I’ve downed a few thousand Jello shooters and gotten the green light from the baddest bitch in the club to make a move that would seriously add credibility to my manhood; people that pay for extravagant lunches using money they should have reserved for public transportation; people who tell you they care as long as your workload puts them in better lighting; people who sleep with people that sign off on paychecks; people that eat lunches behind trash dumpsters in the back parking lot of the office building, only no actual food is consumed, but rather protein from another fellow human, or a human who’s no less labeled a canine; people who don’t know your name unless you’re wearing a name tag and a hairnet. You get my point.

This post is about people and the shit they bring to the office. People in the workplace that want you to believe you’re family – at least until 5PM anyway. And with that said, it’s those very people that tend to make the day’s potential for productivity and get-alongedness a completely unfunny joke.

Not annoyed

I don’t laugh when someone comes into my office and asks if I’m busy. What the hell did you think I was doing before you blatantly interrupted me? Do you know how long it took me to get this score on this Bejeweled game?

I don’t laugh when someone asks me if I want to have a meeting to discuss anything other than the lunch menu for the next day. Who the hell wants to meet about anything, ever? Do you want to punch yourself in the face for me? Fuq you and your meeting.

I don’t laugh when someone gives me a 30 minute deadline. That’s not totally true. I laugh because whoever has given me the deadline is under the impression that I’m going to finish doing anything in 30 minutes or less. If we aren’t talking about food, forget about it. Thirty minutes to me means “before you leave work for the day” …or “before you quit.” Whichever comes first.

I don’t laugh when my supervisor transfers her phone to mine. Seriously? As if I already don’t have enough people to blatantly send to voicemail.

I don’t laugh when I’m referred to as MR. UM rather than MR. THENAMEMYMOTHERGAVEME. No one generally remembers my name unless they need something. Now that I think about, I guess coworkers are more like family than I thought. I have a few cousins that wholeheartedly believe my first name is CAN I BORROW.

I don’t laugh when I see my laughable paycheck. Really, I don’t laugh. I cry.

I don’t laugh when there’s a disgruntled employee plotting to flatten the Human Resource Director’s tires. Well, maybe I laugh a little bit. That monster deserves to get his tires flattened.

The point is no matter who ignores you at work while wearing a plastic smile and a pinstriped suit, all of those laughable moments that I find so terribly unfunny fall under the category of SHIT HAPPENS. Between the hours of 8AM and 5PM (or whatever your working hours are) shit happens. Any and all working class citizens ought to be prepared for the unexpected bullshit that inevitably happens every day. And you know what? We can blame those “people” for that.

ALL members of the workforce should expect water cooler rumors; expect to have unseasoned green beans with their flavorless cafeteria-cooked macaroni and cheese; expect documents to be lost or unsigned or peed on.  Okay, maybe no one would expect to receive a document with pee stains on it, but like I said earlier – SHIT HAPPENS. Expect to have a petty office beef (especially with that one chick that thinks she’s fly as hell with her 2 ¾” stilettos that matches nothing she wears and encouragingly builds up the bunions on her feet); expect to have to work through lunch (which is the sole reason for always having a pair of boxing gloves in your briefcase). No lunch/Late lunch/Working lunch = FIGHT!

The moral of the story is SHIT HAPPENS, especially at work. And that shit is caused by those people who can so easily fuq up a good day. But instead of getting mad at the shit that happens in the office and pointing a finger at those responsible for it, the real question is why get upset when you expected all this shit to go down even before you left your house this morning? It’s not rocket science to assume someone in the office is going to unexpectedly piss you off. Truth be told, if no shit happens during any point of the day, well…I don’t think I’d expect that.


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Dear Hottywood,

I took a field trip to the bathroom down the hall from my office only to be disappointed by the fact that the same fat, foul smelling guy has been in there for 40 minutes stinking up the place. A few of my mustache hairs fell out when I opened the door. Is there an appropriate way to ask for a time limitation on the use of the company bathroom?

Up to Here with That

Dear Up to Here with That,

HULK BathroomC’mon man, be reasonable. If you were full of shit, would you want someone to limit the amount of time it takes for you get your pipes clean? I think the rational answer to this question is NO.  Also, NO there is no appropriate way to ask for a time limitation on the use of the company bathroom. What are you, 6 years old?

When you were in grade school, didn’t your teacher give you a preposterous 3 minutes to use the john, assuming you didn’t have to drop a bomb in the commode? And when that teacher gave you those laughable 3 minutes, were you in control of time or did your shit have a mind of its own?

Asking someone to limit the time use of the company bathroom will come back to bite you in the ass (no pun intended) FLUSHthe next time you overload on Taco Bell, Chipotle or McDonald’s. How would you feel if you had a guard standing outside of your bathroom stall with a stop watch? I’m pretty sure you’d feel embarrassed and ready to fight. You’d also feel like you need to look for a new job after having even considered that someone (meaning your stall guard) would joke with his friends over lunch or during an inappropriate email exchange about whatever it was that crawled inside your stomach and died.

If you can’t wait for the bathroom to be free and clear of all bodies except your own so that you can pee or shit in peace and private, then you need to hold your mess and hope your intestines don’t explode or carry an adult diaper, a can of extra strength air spray, a large smell-proof bucket, a change of clothes, and a box of consideration.

Quote of the Week:  “Here I sit broken-hearted; Paid a dime but only farted. Next time I will take my chance; Save a dime and crap my pants!


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Dear Hottywood,

I was hooking up regularly with a lady friend of mine. In order to make our meetings more convenient, I never bothered to get my parking pass back from her (residents and guests must have a parking pass to park on the premises of my complex. Unfortunately the leasing office does not distribute guest parking passes anymore). She hasn’t been quite forthright in returning the pass, and has since made quite a few unannounced visits to my house. Even though I’ve expressed to her that I’m not interested in anything more than a casual hookup, she is rather insistent that we are a couple and that 2015 will be our year to make the magic happen between us. I want to keep f!@%ing her, but I don’t want the commitment and responsibility of being in a relationship. I also want my parking pass back. Please help.

Thank you,


Dear Restricted,

Go AwayThis is one fine pickle you’ve gotten yourself into. Don’t you know that giving someone your residential parking pass is equivalent to giving them a set of keys to your house? You put yourself in a commitment when you gave her free access to your place, coupled with the regular hookups.

In this lady’s mind, you told her that she’s the only one you’re banging and that she can come over any time she wants because she now has unrestricted access to your community. Certainly (again, in her mind) she’s the only person you’re f!@%ing because no man would be stupid enough to give out his keys parking pass to more than one female at a time if he didn’t think things were serious. When you gave her the pass, she no doubt called all her friends and family and told them to expect wedding bells soon. I can almost bet you $1.00 that you let her keep the pass because you didn’t feel like walking out to her car in the cold to get it back after y’all banged late one night. I could be wrong, but every man has done this dumb shit at least once in his life. I’ve done it three times, personally. This valuable lesson that I wasn’t smart enough to learn the first time cost me $75.00 x 3.

It doesn’t matter that you’ve told her you’re not interested in anything more than a casual f@!k-fest. Your words are irrelevant now. All that matters is that you gave her a parking pass of her very own and pretty much permanently invited her into your personal space, which clearly means the opposite of what you said. Also, it’s not uncommon for a woman to equate sex with love. And if you’re sexing her regularly, you must love her a lot according to the natural order of a woman’s thinking who’s been single for far too long.

If you tried to explain to her your disinterest in a monogamous relationship and she’s ignored your plea, the only things left for you to do is to be mean and snatch the pass out of her car while she’s watching or be slick and do it behind her back. Your final option after retrieving your shit is to bone her one last time, ensuring that she stays over long after the gates have locked and the tow trucks have made their rounds. When she finally leaves your place only to discover that her car has been towed, she’ll be pissed enough never to risk coming back to your house with no parking pass to protect her vehicle, especially if you’ve locked the door after she’s left and immediately sent all her calls to voicemail. It’s a low-blow option with no morals or consideration, but at this point it seems that lack of morals and consideration are the only things that will get through to her since honesty isn’t working.

Just to be sure you got your message across, after you’ve gotten your pass back, banged one last time real good, put her out and became profusely unavailable after her car’s been towed, immediately post a sign on your door that reads something like (and just to be clear, one sign never works. If I were you I’d post a bunch of signs all at once):

BEWARE OF DOG (This is especially effective if you have no dog)










Good luck, my friend. I and every man on the planet who has ever gone through this ordeal is pulling for ya. And I’m praying that this chick isn’t a psycho stalker who is now planning your quick and silent demise. If I never hear from you again, I’ll know why.



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