Laugh now and get it over with.
Laugh now and get it over with.
I hate it when someone walks into my office and asks me dumb questions like, “are you busy?” Of course I’m busy. I’m at work. Is there an appropriate way to tell someone to go away and leave me the hell alone?”
There Goes My Promotion
Dear There Goes My Promotion,
I can advise you that telling someone to go away and leave you the hell alone is a sure way to not only lose a promotion but also your job in its entirety. Why don’t you try skipping deodorant for a few days or not brushing your teeth for a week? I promise you no one will want to come near you. With these actions, you won’t have to use any language prohibited in the workspace (“no,” “I can’t,” “I’m busy.”).
Unless you come right out and say you’re otherwise preoccupied by order of God, there’s no amount of acceptable deterring appropriateness that will discourage a colleague from interrupting you for any reason. In the office world, saying the word “no” to anyone or “yes, I’m busy” is laughable, ill-advised and punishable by pink slip.
If you have a private office, you may try barricading your door so no one can get in. The problem with that is you may not be able to get out. You’ll realize how big of a problem this can be when (a) you have to use the bathroom and (b) when it’s time to leave for the day. If by some off chance you are able to keep your door closed for the day with the ability to enter and exit, you want to make sure that whenever you leave your office (bathroom break, lunch break, smoke break, etc.) you do so as clandestinely as possible. This would be a prime time to exercise your ninja stealth skills. Hide behind shadows, slither on the floor like a garden snake, or even trying emailing yourself to wherever you need to be. Be warned, though. Most officemates are nosey as hell. No matter how hard you try to be invisible there is always someone watching you. ALWAYS.
If you have a cubicle, I’m sorry to say you’re screwed. As long as your colleagues can see your face you are available to them. Period.
Your best option is to try my ‘not washing your ass’ suggestion. Good luck with that!
Click HERE to see what others are asking.
Click HERE to get your copy of HottywoodHelps.com’s debut novel,
TO: Superior Managers of If I Told You I’d Have To Kill You (IITYIHTKY) Enterprises
FROM: HNIC, No One Matters But Me Department
SUBJECT: Permission to Replace Office Swivel Chair with Air Mattress
DATE: Half Pass Right Now, 2016
This notice of memorandum serves as an official request for permission to replace [suite #211] swivel chair with a home-supplied air mattress.
Attached you will find a signed medical notice from Dr. Boo Boo McLeod, MD of the Unsanctified Round-a-Way Medical Center, requesting that human resource officials and all other appropriate personnel of IITYIHTKY Enterprises acknowledge and honor doctor’s recommendation for Hottywood Helps to permissibly replace is raggedy office swivel chair with a tricked out air mattress, in an effort to avoid any further compulsory medical treatment administered due to a rare case of coworkersannoystheshitoutofmeoxia, from which Mr. Helps suffers.
This condition causes Mr. Helps to lash out at fellow No One Matters But Me Department staff and risks interruption of interoffice departmental work progress, therefore he should be granted immediate approval to replace said furniture with a more comfortable sleep-encouraging apparatus.
Upon recent telephone conversations with Mr. Helps’ physician, Dr. Boo Boo McLeod, and in addition to research gathered from the world wide web, an air mattress would ensure Mr. Helps’ speedy recovery from coworkersannoystheshitoutofmeoxia. Should the mattress coerce Mr. Helps into a temporary midday coma, the respite would ignite unused cells in his brain ultimately improving his work performance and allowing him to overcome the late day grogginess that so many IITYIHTKY Enterprises employees experience on a day-to-day basis (water cooler rumors have it).
I am in favor of supporting the healthiness of my entire staff and request that all official authorized superior managers do the same as long as proper documentation is supplied, not to include death threat notices.
In the event that further references are needed and/or necessary (in addition to Dr. McLeod’s recommendation), the telephone numbers of the below listed names may be provided upon request:
Please note that all below listed persons are dead so it may take a while to gather the information you seek [if applicable].
Quote of the Week: “A day without a nap is like a cupcake without frosting.”
Click HERE to see what others are asking
(302) 36HOTTY to leave your question for our Ask Hottywood advice column
Click HERE to get your copy of HottywoodHelps.com’s debut novel,
It doesn’t take long to get back into the swing of office hum-drum after spending days away of celebrating the Christmas/New Year holiday season. What makes me an expert in this truth is the return to the office, obviously.
As I sit at my desk sifting through piles of unfiled folders, past due email reminders, and pretending to be interested in my coworkers’ holiday fiascos, the one thing that sails the ocean of my mind is how much more of no real work I’m going to do than what I did before 2015 said goodbye for the last time.
I’m not going to return any emails today. I’m not going to check the voicemail messages that have my audix light flashing. I’m not going to contribute any comments to the first staff meeting of the year. I’m not going to file any folders. I’m not even going to pour hot coffee over the copier machine. I’m just going to sit here and continue to be paid to fill a seat behind an oak desk, the way God intended.
This list of nots is not to be confused with me not wanting to be here, because in all honesty I’m very glad to have returned. Being home on vacation doing nothing has a completely different feel than being at work doing nothing on paid time. I actually do miss my coworkers. I just don’t want to talk them. Same as last year. I also need a place to escape in order to prevent myself from drinking fully loaded alcoholic beverages for breakfast. …well I guess I can do that at work but contrary to popular belief that’s frowned upon. Same as last year. Go figure.
I guess when I think about it, my New Year attitude has only changed as it regards my personal life. For example when bill collectors call to hound me for a payment of a bill I have no intention to pay, I’m going to answer the phone and tell them I’m unavailable just like their phone number when the word unavailable pops up on the caller id.
When it comes to work though, nothing’s changed. Same work. Same shit. It’s just a new year. If my memory serves me correctly (I’ve been told I suffer from CRS (Can’t Remember Shit) syndrome), I think I said this very same thing last year. With that said I don’t see a reason for me to rock the boat especially since I can’t swim.
On that note I’m going to go now. Line 2 is ringing although I’m not going to answer it. Instead I’m going to roam the halls in the event it’s an inside caller. That way I won’t be lying when I have to tell someone I wasn’t in my office when they called – coincidentally, just like I used to do last year.
Quote of the Week: “You should check your email more often. You may have gotten fired three weeks ago.”
Click HERE to see what others are asking
(302) 36HOTTY to leave your question for our Ask Hottywood advice column
Click HERE to get your copy of HottywoodHelps.com’s debut novel,
Let’s be honest. Playing dumb is neither fun nor easy. However we all have to do it for the sake of something. We all gotta work. We all gotta eat. And we all need some form of spiritual healing.
Your work family dishes out a different set of VIP rules for your colleague, who happens to have the same title as you and the same pay as you, but you’re not supposed to know that you’re given the short end of the stick. You aren’t paid to think for yourself. That’s not expected nor written in your employee handbook, so what do you do? Simple. You play dumb until you find a new job or secretly manage to beat some [employment ] ethics and equality into your colleague and every suite mate that leads that colleague to believe their shit doesn’t stink. Violence succeeds where Human Resources fail.
Your church family writes notes about your colorfully tainted life while you’re singing a solo with the choir. You can’t condemn them to hell because somewhere in the bible that’s written to be frowned upon, so what do you do? You play dumb and wait until it’s time for the congregational prayer. Then while everybody’s eyes are closed, pour a few dozen Ex-Lax pills into the communion wine. At that point you can stop playing dumb and instead sit back and wait for the magic to happen. The magic will more than likely happen just before the devil’s personal chauffeurs arrive to carry your sinful ass to hell. If you’re a little smarter, you’ll wait until church is over to cuss everybody the hell out, but noooooooooo. You’re not that smart. You have to play dumb and shit. At least this way you only indirectly interrupt the church service. That’ll prolong your trip to purgatory.
What if someone confronts you about money you’ve owed them since elementary school? Remember that day you borrowed $.50 from someone to buy a Whatchamacallit some umpteen years ago? When you sunk your front teeth into that crunchy caramel nougat, you had no idea that thirty years later those same two front teeth would rot and fall out on the day you’d run into the then most popular girl in all of the 6th grade. What do you do now? Smile and play dumb, pretending you have a full set of teeth in your mouth. Wait. I take that back. Smiling would in fact be dumb. Not playing dumb. You’d be the talk of your 6th grade class, provided everyone in your 6th grade class is still alive, and remembers you, or care(s)/(ed) about you, or don’t have teeth of their own. What would be the chances of that? What do you care? You’re still playing dumb, right? Or is that a dumb question?
Your supervisor asks you if the color of her dress brings out the color of her eyes. Even though her eyes on a normal day are a soul-less black and her pupils completely disappear when it’s her time of the month, if you want to continue receiving paychecks with cute little smiley faces over each “i” in your name, you’d better play dumb and lie like hell when you tell her “yes, that beautiful dress almost hides the hatred in your eyes. I feel like I could smack you and actually get away with it.”
WARNING: Do not try this at home or in your wildest dreams.
To tell you the truth, I could continue with this list of appropriate times to play dumb, but there is someone banging on my door, no doubt with a reason to question the paper bag full of dog poop that someone left sitting on their front door step. I may know the person that left the shit there. I may be the person that left the shit there. But for the sake of my health and physical ability to walk – ahem RUN FOR MY LIFE – should a shitty situation arise, I’d better play dumb and act like none of this, this post or the bag of puppy poo, ever happened.
I swear, sometimes playing dumb is the smartest thing you can do.
I think enough of my hair has fallen out for me to finally feel comfortable enough to tell you that I am frikkin overworked and stressed the hell out! Between the thousands of phone calls, emails, and unexpected deadlines; not to mention taking on the responsibilities of those employees who have been fired; are out sick; or simply too overwhelmed to complete their own assignments; I must admit that I rather like my hair and would like to keep it just a little while longer before old age takes the privilege away from me.
As if coming to work isn’t hard enough in itself, especially after having dealing with the hard blows that life can throw at you , I have to come into the office and fall behind in my workload to attend 3 hour staff meetings and sit through meetings to discuss what’s going to be discussed in the next meeting.
While my colleagues are freely attending extended 2 hour lunches, I have approximately 22 minutes to eat, digest and shit before the next emergency arises and my ulcer once again rips through the lining of my stomach. The bags under my eyes from lack of sleep are heavy enough to carry a load of nervous tension as I twitch uncontrollably and break out into hives when I hear your high heels stomping towards the entrance of my office. Hiding for the sake of sanity is my first inclination, however there’s no time permitted on my calendar, as poking my eyeballs out with a number 2 pencil has taken up all of what’s left of my free time.
I’m not writing this letter to complain about the 200% increase in work, the disrespect of those needy ass coworkers who only come to me when they require something while ironically forgetting my name, or the fact that the cafeteria serves yesterday’s coffee every day and always seems to run out of sugar when I’ve finally found enough energy to drag myself by the collar to the coffee pot. I’m writing this letter to you to say, “Help.” Help me to understand why my outstanding performance evaluation has omitted me from getting the change in job title, the slightly bigger broom-closeted corner office, or the pay increase to match the duties I’ve collected since the last 5 – 7 employees left the company. Help me to understand why our department rests on the top floor when studies show that people inflicted with heavy amounts of stress are inclined to jump out of a window in hopes to land in the middle of a busy intersection. Help me to understand why when it comes time to offer kudos, Jane and John’s names are the first to be called when I’m the one who scarred myself to write the proposals, the memos, the cover letters, the charts and graphs, the powerpoint presentations and even ordered the ink pens that they penned their John Hancocks with.
Even now, as I write this letter to you, I must cut my time short because I only have 37 seconds to run to the bathroom, pee quickly and get to the conference room for the staff meeting that I’ve only been invited to because someone is needed to carry the heavy boxes of reports that’s going to be passed out to the rest of the team.
It’s not that I don’t love my job, because I do. I just want to live long enough to appreciate and enjoy it and buy the donuts that my small paychecks can only afford. You guys are killing me slowly. I implore you – HELP! Hire a temp; build another me out of match sticks and Elmer’s glue. Hell, I don’t care! But pretty soon there’s not going to be enough of me to go around because I’ll be buried somewhere 6 feet under a pile of manila folders.
Your most humble, gracious and dedicated employee
with only ½ a head of full hair.
You have a call on line 2.
Get more funnies like this with the purchase of HottywoodHelps.com’s debut book, “Tracks of an Underground Advice Columnist” and find out what other office shenanigans are taking place inside Lazy Heifer Couch Potato Productions.
Quote of the week: “An ant on the move does more than a dozing ox.”
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.
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.
to see what other people are asking or visit
Everyone has a moment where they want to tell their supervisor what they really think about them. Even your supervisor has those days with their supervisor. The office is the one place where you can count on all your colleagues to be on their “A” game when it comes to being fake. Being fake at the office is the survival of the fittest! It has to be done in order to ensure a steady paycheck and a couple of free cocktails during staff luncheons. The hard part isn’t NOT speaking your mind; it’s to avoid saying the wrong things to the people who matter most. And by “people who matter most” I mean the people who sign your paychecks! Some things you may say by accident. Some, by osmosis. Some things you might say just to get a rise or a laugh. But when your money is concerned, the one thing you should concentrate on saying the most is ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. If you just have to say something to let your boss know they are the living equivalence of monkey sweat, then choose a nice, flattering lie. Tell them you can tell they’ve lost weight in their neck or something like that. Be careful though. Some of your compliments may come out all wrong and could cause your ass to live out of a shoe box in your neighbor’s back yard. When in doubt, give them the middle finger when you think they’re not looking. Most supervisors find power in signing their John Hancock on a pink slip. So be warned.
Below are a list of things you should never say to your boss, unless you just don’t give a f*ck.
“Nice Rack.” It’s a known rule that you shouldn’t gawk over your supervisor unless you have mad game or every intention on screwing them for A) a promotion, B) blackmail or C) leverage, however most people are grossed out by the sight of their supervisors. I think it’s a “power” thing, so this comment isn’t said too frequently. At any rate, unless you and your boss are totally wasted at an office shindig, telling them they have a nice rack is a sure way to get sued or canned. If your supervisor is a man, it’s a sure way to get the crap beaten out of you.
“Did you smell that?” Farting without care is never good. …well, I shouldn’t say ‘never’. Farting because you’re subliminally referring to your boss as a piece of sh*t is never good. Again, maybe I shouldn’t say ‘never’. Trust me – they know they’re pieces of sh*t, they just don’t want to be reminded by a subordinate. Bad day or not, passing gas and asking your boss if they smelled it is probably not a good way to build your own character, as entertaining as it may be. But you haven’t lived until you’ve tried it at least once.
“Go away, I’m on the phone.” Slacking off at work is an unwritten responsibility that’s included in every employee’s job description. Just as it’s unwritten, it should be done in private – but how many bosses do you know like to give their employees privacy? If you’re having one of those days where you don’t feel like hearing the hum-drum of your manager’s bitchfests, pick up the phone and speak randomly to the dial tone. Tell your boss to beat it until you’re done with your phone call. Telling them to take a hike is a grand way to let them know you’d rather spend your days in an unemployment or soup kitchen [receiving] line. Either way, you’ll have all the time and privacy you need once your ass has been fired!
“You need an assistant.” Suggesting to your manager that they need an assistant reiterates the question of why they hired you in the first place. Just like you think your boss is a stinky butt hole, they think the same sh*t about you. So after you’ve put your foot in your mouth and given them something to think about, just wait patiently for security to escort you out of the building. Most terminated employees don’t take their termination very well. Why should you be any different? It really doesn’t matter one way or the other. Just go out and find another job to be lazy at or another boss to insult.
“I can not ignore you and concentrate on eating potato chips at the same time.” No matter how hard you try, the sound of the loud crunch of potato chips does not drown out the monotonous echo of added work loads, high demands or long-winded conversations of dissatisfaction. You may be tempted to tell your boss to shut the hell up so you can concentrate on grubbing on your snacks, but it may not go over so well. If you think typical superior blah blah is hard to wrap your head around, you haven’t heard anything until you’ve heard, “You’re fired!” barbarically battling the crunch of your chips.
The list definitely continues with the “what not to say” to your supervisor or anyone responsible for signing your checks, for that matter. Though you may be driven to tell them to kiss your ass or suck on smoldering hot lava rocks, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to press your luck until they’ve cleared the room. So the next time you get the urge to fix your lips to say something foolish, fight it. All it takes is a little effort. And 90% of any effort is getting started.
Quote of the week: “When you’re right, no one remembers. When you’re wrong, no one forgets.”
In every office, 9am is close to the time when the supervisor makes his rounds to see who is at their desk slaving away on the work he is too good to do himself. He walks around with a golden clipboard checking off the names of those employees that are present and those that aren’t. He doesn’t say anything to or about those particular “slack-offity” individuals that spend more time at the coffee machine, loitering in front of the bathroom doors like hustlers on street corners, or lollygagging at their neighbor’s cubicles, but rather waits until an all-hands staff meeting to inconspicuously pull his staff’s card(s) or employee evaluation time to lay it all on the line one last time before sending out pink slips in the form of singing telegrams. This ritual has not changed since the days of Ebenezer Scrooge. What have changed over the years are the levels of concern from the ostensibly invincible employees.
Today employees don’t care who know about their late night romps, midnight bubble guts, or domestic squabbles. They believe their personal talk is part of the daily flow of business. Not considering that they are being mentally recorded by the man who signs off on their paychecks, they hold no regard for their fellow coworkers who either don’t give a damn about their after-5 lives or are too afraid to be clumped in the category of slackers by mere association.
This observation was brought to me some time yesterday between my travels to the copier machine and the giant catapult that hurls me home at the end of every day, when I found a petition krazy-glued to my swivel chair collectively signed by all the employees that are insistent on disassociating themselves from that one bad apple that lowers the property value of the underpaid subordinates in the office; specifically that one employee that gallivants up and down the office halls like a regular on a hoe stroll; or that one employee that eats potato chips with their mouth open while engaging in an uninspiring face-to-face conversation; or that employee that tells and laughs at all of his own humorless jokes; or that employee that doesn’t know the meaning of using his/her “inside voice.”
The petition was easily summed up in a single word: HELP. Help us, Hottywood, to make this employee change his ways or go away. Help us to make him understand that he is one step below the definitions of unwanted, unneeded and unnecessary. Help us to pretend harder that he is not making a bad name for those of us that stand on the ladder of his pay scale. Help us not to beat the living crap out of him at lunch time.
In response to the senders of the petition, I must warn you all that you can not treat this nuisance quite as simply as you would a bad cold. These office annoyances are not made. They are born. They multiply. They are eternal. However since Hottywood Helps, I have but one suggestion…
If this doesn’t change the atmosphere, nothing will.
Quote of the Week: “Don’t look at me with that tone of voice!”
Sadly, there are many people in this world that don’t take advantage of slacking off on company time. Any normal person would be inclined to ask why? I am inclined to assume it’s because they don’t know how. Lucky for them Hottywood Helps!
If one insists on doing a full day’s work, the day to do it is Tuesday. Monday is reserved for getting over a weekend hangover. Wednesday is reserved for celebrating the halfway mark of faking your way through the work week. Thursday is codename for “I Don’t Give a Phuck Day,” and Fridays are like the Christmas Eve of the weekend!
Rather than me spending a lot of time explaining the how-to of office slacking, I’m just going to post a little weekday workday schedule for you. After all, I’m supposed to be in a staff meeting right now, but I’d rather do this, so I’m claiming one of my fifteen minute breaks now.
*This is a Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday workday schedule.
Arrive at work.
8:31am – 9:05am
Talk to your favorite select coworkers.
9:06am – 9:30am
Fifteen minute coffee/smoke break.
9:31am – 9:45am
Do some actual work.
9:46am – 10:00am
Bathroom break. What you do in the bathroom is nobody’s business!
10:01am – 11:59am
Get on Facebook.
12:00pm – 2:00pm
2:01pm – 2:45pm
Fifteen minute coffee/smoke break.
2:46pm – 3:25pm
Ask your supervisor a question about a task you should have completed two hours ago. Give about five minutes worth of attention to the actual task in question. Devote the rest of the time discussing their [supervisor’s] pet. You will probably get a promotion for caring at all about their pet(s).
3:26pm – 4:00pm
Get on Facebook.
4:01pm – 4:30pm
Bathroom break. Make sure you wash your hands.
4:31pm – 4:45pm
Reserve nothing during this time slot. Not a damn thing. This is YOUR time.
Sneak out of the office early. No one will come looking for you because it’ll be too close to 5 o’clock’s quitting time.
Quote of the Week: “You moon the wrong person at an office party and suddenly you’re not ‘professional’ any more.”
What’s the difference between playing loud music in an apartment unit and holding a meeting full of loud voices in a private office with the door wide open? There is no difference. It’s just plain old rude.
Considering the average worker spends more time at work than they do at home, the same [living] rules of etiquette apply to the office.
Employees should NOT:
The sad part about this list of nots is that it’s considered unethical to douse repeat offenders with a hot bucket of cat pee. In fact, if an employee were to bring a bucket of cat pee to the office, he/she would be fired for questionable thinking, intention or behavior. But is it really that much worse to bring cat pee to work than it is to annoy fellow co-workers by breaking the rules of proper work etiquette? I think not.
In order to make any work environment a better place, employees SHOULD BE ALLOWED TO:
If leaders of the work world would take heed to these suggestions, surely their subordinate staff would better respect them (provided they [the leaders] aren’t the colleague of choice to be cursed out in a given week). The office would be a much more relaxed place. Employees would get along better and more work would get done…the work may not be correct, but it would be complete.
In the new year, let’s strive to make as many of these changes in the office as we can or burn the copier room down trying.
Quote of the Week: “If a man smiles all the time, he’s probably selling something that doesn’t work.”
If you’ve ever thought to yourself, “There’s one in every bunch,” let me be the one to tell you that you’re not the only one. Whether you are good friends with a group of guys/gals, a barrage of church folk, or fairly courteous to a department full of coworkers, ‘One in Every Bunch’ usually singles out the one rotten apple in the barrel – the creep; the jackass; the hater; the brat; the complainer; even the whore. They are the ones that make sucking on poisonous rusty nails look kind of tasty. Let’s take a closer look, shall we?
Around the way…
Everyone knows that getting to know your neighbors is a double-bladed sword. The upside is that you get to have your own personal watch dogs when you’ve partied so hard that the only thing you can see are bright lights, or when you’re so tired that your eyes only see the darkness of your closed eyelids. It’s good to have neighbors around to borrow sugar or bum a ride or to get the latest neighborhood gossip. But in every neighborhood there is one resident that should be banned from the island of normalcy. It’s usually the neighbor that blasts their music at 2am, or the neighbor that smokes weed all day and night, or the neighbor that peeks into your window or holds a glass against the wall for a better reception while you’re having sex, or the neighbor that steals your newspaper, or the neighbor that never speaks.
No matter what nuisance that [particular] neighbor holds under his/her belt, in every neighborhood there is always one neighbor that you wish would move out, either by choice or by force. If you live an apartment building, I really don’t know what to tell you. Well I do actually, but if my neighbor gets a hold of this, he’ll know I was the one that did what I’m fighting myself not to tell you to do. If you live in a house, a bag full of fresh hot doggy doo will almost always provide you the satisfaction of telling that single bad one in the bunch that their sh*t stinks.
At the office…
I could go on and on about the jerks in the office. There’s the lady that can’t do anything by herself, or the chick that asks a ton of questions just when it’s time for the staff meeting to end, or the guy that emails or calls you about twenty times a day to explain to him the basics of a Microsoft Windows application…like how to print and save. The truth of the matter is one will not and can not take up an occupation where they are not annoyed with their coworkers, unless of course they work for themselves out of their kitchen, attic, basement or backyard shed. And even still there are times when one gets irritated with one’s self. Those annoyances are to be expected. But in every office, there is one person who is the biggest asshole out of the rest.
He/She is the one whose work ethics, manners and/or attitude is synonymous with a truck stop bathroom commode after a bus load of people that ingested multiple numbers of #4 Taco Bell combo meals with fire hot sauce have bombarded the facilities with explosions of juicy ass gas and butt droppings. If you happen to work at an office with this kind of butt wipe, your best bet is to quit, or rub two stones together until you spark a fire big enough to burn that coworker’s cubicle to the ground.
It is no secret that church is a place of reverence and worship. It is a place of peace and communion with everyone’s main man, J. Christ. It is a place of good music and good preaching, or a place where everyone says “Amen” no matter how bad the music or preaching is. It is a place filled with people of like spirit and beliefs. It is also a place where you’ll find at least one person who mocks the name of all that is holy. In every church there is one brother or sister who spreads gossip like hoes spread their legs. Or one deaconess that has been with the church since the laying of the first brick whose face is permanently mugged. Or one alcoholic that comes to church only on communion Sunday for a shot of communion wine. Or one lead singer that think his/her voice is the best thing since sliced bread, only not good enough to earn himself a recording deal with a major or minor record label. Or one minister who’s tainted reputation overshadows the light that shines over the pulpit. Or one usher that falls asleep on the job. Or one kid that isn’t liked by anyone – child or adult.
If you attend a church where one of these ones attend, just put yourself out of your misery by slicing yourself to death with the edges of your church bulletin. If you’re going to die, the two best places to do it are church and the hospital. Popeyes would be the next best place to die if you just had to have three choices on your list.
At the mall…
As if shopping isn’t a hard enough task in itself, in every mall across the country, shoppers must deal with at least one person that loads all of the sale items into their shopping cart, or one shopper that buys everything one size too small in a wasted effort to lose some much necessary weight, or one shopper that refuses to try his/her clothes on inside an actual fitting room, or one shopper that pays their final bill in nothing but dimes and nickels, or one shopper that picks up a piece of merchandise with no price tag on it, prompting the cashier to leave the register to investigate the price of the product, or one shopper who talks on their cell phone loud enough for the entire store to hear the conversation, or one serial coupon shopper.
There really isn’t a way around the unsubtle shopper, unless of course you stick with online shopping and run the risk of someone hacking into your personal information, i.e. bank card, bank account, social security numbers, etc. Or you can be like one of my neighbors and just rob people on the street that have what you want. Just remember you can’t escape from karma, the police or a good ass whooping.
If you’ve never heard the expression “there’s one in every bunch,” then I am elated to be the one to introduce it to you. If after reading this post, you still don’t understand what the expression means, then you’re the one that needs to take your ass back to school to do a little bit more studying on comprehension. I guess as in everything else, in every learning circle, there is one dummy that doesn’t learn a damn thing.
Quote of the Week: “Stress is when you wake up screaming and suddenly realize you haven’t fallen asleep yet.”