Farmyard Olive Garden

I work with professionals. Although the skill mastered to earn this title varies, I do work with professionals…they are all pros at something. A while back I was treated to a rare display of barnyard sounds from two very skilled women. Two large women. In Olive Garden. Eating Dinner. Making Pig noises. And I don’t expect you to believe me because I doubt I would either. But it happened.

A group of eight of us were on the road and met for dinner. Most of the people I work with are older, slower, and more conservative than I’m used to after fifteen years in the Tech industry. I ended up working here because the commute was short and vacation days plentiful. I normally find it tough to engage myself in social conversation because we just don't have much in common (except Sloth of course, but he wasn't on this trip).

I was amused when two larger older ladies, Porky and Elmer (and I am not picking these names because of their ‘larger’ size…read on!), began talking about their pet pigs. Porky is a loud woman with crazy black curly hair. Her boisterous voice fills a room like an entertaining stench (the kind that smells horrible but is so intriguing you have to take another whiff). Elmer is on my team and doesn’t like me. She’s complained to my boss several times about my refusal to work after hours on projects that I deem a complete waste of time. I don’t share her passion for work…or pigs for that matter.

So Elmer and Porky went on about how their pigs are like one of the family, sometimes eat at the table (I swear, I am not making this up), and even will sleep in their beds on occasion. Then, Porky started talking about “cute” noises her pet pig makes. And then, and I shit you not, gave us an example of a low throat like grunting sound it makes when it's happy. Elmer answered with her own version of the happy grunt; which reminded me that I could have been back at the hotel fighting orcs in “World of Warcraft.” Instead, I’m sitting in what sounds like a barnyard hoping nobody else in the restaurant recognizes me. For what seems like an eternity (fifteen seconds), I sit in the middle of an Olive Garden Restaurant while my two professional large older women co-workers lean over their dinner plates making pig sounds. All the while I’m thinking, this can’t be happening.

I don’t think it would have ended, except Elmer noticed the people around us staring. She cut her grunt short and Porky oinked out moments later. I looked down at my food and did what I always do in a situation like that; ignore it. I had to shut it out of my mind for a spell because otherwise I would have either been too embarrassed to finish my dinner or burst out in uncontrollable laughter. My guess is that it would have been the latter.

It was...uh...Chris

Workweasel already introduced you to Mrs. Anderson and Mouth Ninja. This post involves them both.

Mouth Ninja was at my desk going on and on about something. No physical or verbal cue actually tells her that a conversation is done. In fact, most of my conversations with her don't really end, they just sort of whither and die. We look at each other like a couple who has been married for 50 years and don't have anything left to say. At this point she just sort of exhales an awkward laugh and slips away. Conversation not over, it just expired from a long, slow and painful demise.

Weasel knows what kind of trap it can be to have Mouth Ninja at your desk so he called upon Mrs. Anderson to rescue me. At this point we were still new to Mrs. Anderson and our abuse of her services were pretty widespread in the first few days. Weasel thought that she'd leave my desk if I had to take a call but he miscalculated how Mouth Ninja can ignore everyday social prompts that the rest of us take for granted.

The phone rang and I answered it. She stood there. Watching. I began to pretend to talk as the automated voice of Mrs. Anderson droned on. It went like this:

Sloth: Hello?
Phone: This is Mrs. Anderson blah blah blah
Sloth: Okay, good I like what you've done there.
Phone: Blah blah blah blah
Sloth: Uh, okay I can get that for you.
Mouth Ninja: (Glaring stare)
Sloth: Okay, I have to go.

As soon as I hung up I got the third degree from Mouth Ninja as she pointed her question at me as if I were at gunpoint. "Who was that?"

First of all I'm a terrible liar. So I just used the name of the last person I had spoken to on the phone. "It was...uh....Chris." I was obviously lying.

"Chris who?" She gestured toward the phone demanding an answer.

"Uh, Chris Hew...litt.....pack...ard. I uttered the last four syllables of Chris' actual name very slowly while trying to think on my feet but I knew I wasn't convincing anyone that Mrs. Anderson's call was from anyone we actually knew.

"What did he want!?" she persisted now with her arms crossed.

"He just wanted to tell me about..." At this point our conversation is interrupted by Weasel who begins snorting and weezing. He kicked himself away from his desk rolling his chair back while making noises that were a futile attempt to contain himself from a hysterical outburst.

"I recognize that phone number! Where was he calling from?" She looked down at the LCD readout on my phone which showed the incoming number and recognized it. Like I said, we abused Mrs. Anderson enough times that the number was familiar to Ninja. Since Chris wasn't likely calling from an outside number I realized that my lie could easily be discovered if Chris had walked by my desk. By this time Weasel had run out of the room

I redirected the conversation back to the subject of her previous monologue and she was content to spin her rhetorical wheels for another five minutes before the lifespan of the conversation had run out.

That was a close call. Since then we don't summon Mrs. Anderson to rescue calls to our own phones. It's just not worth the third degree.

Briefs

I have obtained information that I wish I hadn't. I have also experienced something I never anticipated. What I learned about my co-worker, "Briefs," is something that would have been better left unknown. Briefs wears white Fruit of the Looms brief-style underwear. But worse is the new image of Briefs that has been burned into my head. The well groomed and classy dressed professional image has been replaced by a man standing in front of the bathroom sink one card away from losing at strip poker. In nothing but his white Fruit of the Loom briefs he stood looking at his face in the mirror while his clean pressed clothes sat heaped in a pile on the cold tile at his side.

Our bathroom isn't large; it's a two stall/two urinal one door-entry standard build. His white ass was in full view of the outside hallway as I opened the door thinking I was about to enjoy a game of dynamite. In a split second, I processed the view; naked man at the sink and a mystery man rustling in the nearest stall. Being the type of person I am, I didn't want to embarrass or call attention to him. Turning and walking out the door would create future awkward moments with Briefs. Even acting out of the ordinary in any way might draw unnecessary attention to the fact that he's standing naked in the bathroom. So I acted like nothing was unusual. It's a fault of mine. If something funky is going on I should say something. But I didn't. I walked in nonchalantly, nodded to the naked guy, and even threw out a "how's it going," as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I'd always been told you shouldn't stare at people who are different...I guess in that split second I figured naked people fell under that umbrella.

I slipped into the stall behind him and sat on the throne in befuddlement. What the hell was going on? I wondered if I should have just asked, "why are you standing there in your underwear?" instead of ignoring it. Well, suffice it to say, there were no relaxed moments of Pocket PC Gaming that day. I never figured it out. I heard Briefs dress and head out the door. The guy next to me rustled about, flushed, and quickly left. My imagination filled in the blanks in ways I wish it wouldn't. I wonder what the scene would have been had I walked in a few minutes sooner? Argh! I have to stop writing now.

The Obscure List

Sloth started a list on our whiteboard of topics we need to write about. It looks somethign like this....actually, it looks exactly like this;

Scan meeting notes
Olive Garden Snorts
Ambiguis City Backup (yesterday didn't exist)
"It was Chris"
Haiku
Peanut Butter
Fruit of the Loom

These references, vague to the lay person, hold lame work related events that need documented. Yet the list itself became a topic worthy of posting when a co-worker stopped to take a look. We haven't introduced this person yet, so I'll call him Hamster (cause he's always running on the wheel and he sorta looks like a hamster...in a cute way).

So when Hamster stopped and took a puzzled look at the white board, Sloth was ready for him.

"It's a list of items I use to help spur my creativity when I write."

"Oh, ok." Hamster let it ride at that.

I thought about adding "The List" to the list of items, but then worried that I might be sucked into some sort of paradoxial vortex...like pointing a video camera at the TV. An endless loop of windows that could throw my mind into an endless spin. I couldn't take that chance. The only solution, take it right to a posting.

And so there you have it. This posting not only shows you how we are slowly introducing our corrupt minds into the work place (by posting our topics on the whiteboard), but also offers you an insight in to some of the new and exciting topics to come.

Stall Slacking

Sloth brings up a good point. In the modern world of cubicles there is really only one safe haven of private escape. I find myself often resorting to "stallslacking." Whether I actually need to use the restroom or not, once or twice a day I close myself into my own private little place where nobody will bother me.

I don't have brickbreaker, but Dynomite, Solitare, and Soduko on my Pocket PC have helped pass many boring afternoons. My Pocket PC has a wireless network interface so I can browse the internet. Or listen to music, watch saved video, and or even look at porn. It's a perfect bathroom stall device and worth having for that purpose alone.

But some days, even the PocketPC can't help my mind break away from the life sapping force that thrives in areas with densly packed cubicles. On days like this, I retreat for a quick 20 minute (or longer on really bad days) nap. Sure, it's not comfortable to be haunched forward very long in that position, but it beats the hell out of sitting at my computer trying to stay away so I can pretend I'm working.

Cheers to the Bathroom stall! The last and final refuge for the modern slacker.

Piece Bingo

The record was 16 and I knew it was time to shatter it.

WorkSloth made the mistake of telling me that he tally's the number of times the word "Piece" is used when he attends meetings. His record was 16. In a cross-department meeting I decided to offer Sloth a gift and make it a special day. I used the word piece every chance I had and often multiple times in the same sentence...

"The problem is the pieces aren't sticking together! We have a piece from HR, a piece from Fiscal, a piece from marketing, and the pieces just don't mesh! We have broken pieces all over the place!"

I managed to keep a straight face although Sloth nearly had tears streaming down his face as he tried to hide his reaction by holding his notebook in front of his face. The record, incidently, was shattered and I've set the bar way too high to make it enjoyable for him anymore. He'll need a new word. Not sure if he'll share it with me next time.

Brickbreaker

My job ties me to a Blackberry. On it I receive email and different notifications for more work to do. When the Blackberry buzzes it is never good news.

The game Brickbreaker is on the Blackberry and I find myself playing it to kill times...even in meetings. I used to suck at it but I've gained some skill with it and the game go on quite a bit longer.

One day I took the Blackberry into the bathroom and figured I'd play it while backing the old brown Buick out of the garage. This particular game of Brickbreaker was my best. I kept getting extra 'life bubbles' and I was proceeding through the different levels like never before. I didn't want to get up because I didn't want to breakup the groove I was in.

While focusing on the game I realized that I had been there too long when the motion sensor had not detected any movement long enough that the lights in the bathroom had gone off. I tried to put up my hand and wave but it didn't detect me while sitting in the stall. I tried to stand though I had spent so much time playing Brickbreaker on the toilet that my lower legs and feet were completely numb. I lost my focus and the game was over...but with a NEW HIGH SCORE!

I put the Blackberry in my pocket, gave my undercarriage a good how's your father and then tried to take a step. No dice. Standing was impossible and I stumbled forward holding on to the side of the stall to bolster myself. I couldn't walk and I had lost enough feeling in my legs that I could not reliably pull up my pants without falling down. Another painful 5 minutes went by with me just standing there trying to regain use of my legs.

That killed about 30 minutes of the day.

Petty Retribution

Every office has someone who refuses to get along with everyone else. Where we work is one such person. Her offenses are more noticable because in general we work in a very tame, mature office environment.

I'll call her SKAMM. SKAMM is overweight and, at times, has more facial hair than I do after a week's vacation. I shouldn't make fun of how another person looks because none of us have much choice in it but truth be told...I don't like her.

One afternoon she called me and demanded I come to her work area. She was already complaining to two other people about an issue in her cubicle when I walked up. She refused to even acknowledge my presence there even though she had summoned me.

I turned my back to her cubicle and did the only thing that I could think of to show my disgust. I had eaten some tortilla soup for lunch which had just enough pinto beans to produce two good methane blasts to launch into her cubicle. As soon as the last few PSI had escaped my lower intestinal cavity I walked away.

I figured if I have to put up with her crap all the time, she may as well put up with mine.

Mrs. Anderson

Although I've never met Mrs. Anderson, I am very fond of her. She has given me and WorkSloth months of ongoing help in surviving the workplace. I stumbled across a website promoting an automated phone service. To test the site, you can put in a phone number and they will promptly return your call and play a recorded message (which incidently is from a very kind woman named Mrs. Anderson telling about the fifth grade homework assignment of the day). Of course, you don't have to put in your own phone number...

We have a coworker, I'll call her MouthNinja, that drives us crazy with her short monotone sentences, superior attitude, nauseating cleavage, and constant flapping of the jaw. We can't shut her up! Well, we can't...but Mrs. Anderson can.

MouthNinja has a cubicle within earshot, so if one of us ends up at the receiving end of her ramblings the other can put in a request to Mrs. Anderson. MouthNinja's phone rings, she quickly leaves, and our suffering is ended in laughter when she angrily slams the phone down at yet another call from the mysterous "Mrs. Anderson."

More to come....

Introduction

I work in a cubicle. I spend most of my days trying to look busy, stay awake, and pass the hours until it's time to go home. I accomplish very little. My only comforts are the practical jokes and instant messaging with my buddy across the five foot fabric colored wall that separates us.

I've jumped from job to job over the years. Somehow, I generally manage to do well...make decent money, get promotions, and avoid getting fired. Honestly, I don't know how I pull it off. I'm lazy and have a bad attitude. When I'm called in for a reprimand, I somehow walk out of the meeting getting praised. I'm not sure how I do it. I don't like the line of work I'm in but I'm stuck because I make too much money to change.

So in this blog, you'll get the truth about it. And perhaps I can pass on to you some of my skills in how to survive a job that will eventually drive you insane if you don't somehow do something to keep your mind intact.