Monthly Archives: March 2006

More workplace mayhem

Turns out, the fat guy had used up the rest of the milk I had brought in, when he ate that bowl of Life right next to my cube. This morning, I brought in a new gallon, so I could eat breakfast again.

Monday, Fat guy had remarked that there’s some yummy cereal in the breakroom, and wondered where it had come from. He was amazed that I had brought in the milk, the Life cereal, and the Granola before that.

Turns out, he had polished off the Granola a few days earlier, without saying anything.

He didn’t say anything when he finished the milk, either.

This morning, he came in, and without stopping to say anything, walked right in to the breakroom, discovered the new milk, poured another bowl of Life, and carried it right back to his cube. Oddly, he left the empty box of Life nestled in among the non-empty boxes of cereal.

And, while I’m glad he didn’t stop to chew next to my cube, I started to wonder – doesn’t he eat breakfast at home? I mean, I eat after I come in, because I get up a bit after 6, and leave for work at 6:30 A.M. – I don’t want to eat breakfast that early. Plus, I’d have to get up earlier to have enough time to eat before leaving.

Fat guy doesn’t come in until 10:00 A.M. Doesn’t he eat breakfast at some point, between waking up and getting to work at 10?

Or, maybe he does eat at home around 8 or 9, and then has second breakfast at 10, and that’s why he’s so chubby. Hmm, food for thought.

In other news, the know-it-all was on a recent business flight, and left his expensive noise-cancellation headphones on the airplane, when he flew to Chicago. A co-worker had just told us his happy story about leaving his notepad in an airport, and that they had placed it in lost and found, and were returning it to him. Know-it-all decided to give that a try, and called some airline’s automated help line for lost and found.

He was on speakerphone, and we heard the computerized voice ask, “Please say the city and state where your item was lost.” Know-it-all replied, “Chicago….. Hey guys, where is Chicago…? Michigan?”


For some reason, today I had left my laptop at work. By nightfall, I couldn’t remember why I had left it, so decided to go get it, and run an errand while I was at it. I took Mag and Amy with me, and we set off into the night.

We went to my workplace, grabbed the laptop, some drinks, and some Red Vines, and then went over to Best Buy. I was scoping out some wireless G routers for my Bishop, to hook up his home network.

But, I spied instead, an exact replica of the DSL router he already had, and the specs said it had G built in! I decided I’d better check it out to make sure, before buying anything.

So, we all hopped back into the car, and set off for his house, where we are staying. While Mag fiddled with the radio, I hummed along, and then made the PBBBBBST type noise you make by sticking your lips out and blowing, to make them flap.

I asked if they could do it, and Mag got it pretty quick, after a few tries. Amy, from the darky backness of the car, figured it out really quick, and spent the rest of the drive, furiously spitting BBBBBBT! noises from the back seat.

It’s really hard to make that noise while you’re smiling, and it’s really hard not to smile and laugh with unseen little Amy making that noise, as fast as she can draw breath, as loudly as possible, from the back of the car.

Wherein I stick it to the Fat Man

Despite my complaints to the contrary, I actually do work in a dysfunctional environment. Some of my coworkers are really quirky.

For instance, there’s the Thai guy from New York. He has the New Yorker’s accent, and a cackle-laugh like the stereotypical evil overlord in bad movies. He knows everything, and always prefaces every statement with “I know this because I…”
When he’s explaining something he knows to someone else, he’ll go right on explaining it even though his victim declares over and over that they know it too, and he won’t shut up.
Despite that, he can’t seem to keep track of his e-mail, so you have to re-tell him stuff you e-mailed him about. Plus, he can’t keep track of files on his hard drive, so he’ll occasionally ask you to send back e-mail attachments so he can correct and re-send them.

Then there’s the waving-hands guy. He’s the only guy I’ve ever seen who licks the mayonnaise knife. Despite his best efforts to speak with his hands, the only motion in his quiver is a sort of backwards breaststroke – he puts his hands together, cupped, in front of his chest, then extends both hands outwards, then spreads his arms wide apart.
He’ll do that repeatedly during a single sentance, whenever he wants to emphasize a point. When it’s something particularly poignant, he’ll lean forward while doing it.
He never throws away a defective CD or disk, and has unlabeled piles of good and bad media on his desk.

Then there’s the fat IT guy. Personally, I have nothing against fat people. This fellow, however, looks like the embodiment of the puffy-faced fat people in Ayn Rand novels. When he walks, his profile is shaped like the number 6, with an unbroken curve extending from the back of his head, down along his back, to the rear of his knees. Even his eyelids have chub.
But, none of that would really bother me, except that since I sit right next to the breakroom, where he makes continual trips there during the day.
But, even that wouldn’t really bother me, except that for some reason, he goes into the breakroom, gets food, then comes out and stands next to my cube to stick it in his face. If you were to take a bellows pump, stick it in a big brown pumpkin, and replace the pleated bag with teeth, that’s what it looks like when this guy opens wide.

Finally, this morning, he went into the breakroom, and poured himself a bowl of cereal. He then came out, and stood between our cubes, tapping his spoon in the cereal. I was busy attaching shipping labels to four different boxes, and for some reason, he took an interest in it. Between bites, he’d ask what it was I was shipping, and where it was going. Then, he followed me back to my cube, and just stood there, shoveling Life into his maw, as I typed into a spreadsheet.

Seething rage bubbled up within me, and my voice exclaimed, “Dude, go somewhere else to eat! Don’t stand there chewing right next to me!”

He looked kinda shocked, and I muttered something or other in explanation, and then we all had a good laugh.

But, if he ever chews next to me again…

Is it still "thrift" at these prices?

Apparently, The Gap has stopped selling new men’s jeans, and now only carries old, worn, and torn men’s jeans. But, they still sell them at or above what regular new jeans would cost.

I discovered this, when I went to exchange a pair of nearly-white Khaki’s that I received for Christmas, for a comfortable pair of jeans. However, while they have like 6 different cuts of jeans, all of them have tons of wear around the leg cuffs, and many of them have holes in the knee.

Why would someone go to a new store and spend $60 for a pair of nearly worn-out jeans? Why not just hit the thrift store and find a pair of worn-out Gap jeans for $5?