I can’t really rant about specifics regarding my co-workers or office on my main blog, to reduce the risk of the wrong person putting 2 and 2 together someday should said wrong person ever find my blog. With that said, here I go.
Dear Twatty Supervisor
You are quite possibly the most incompetent supervisor I have ever had. How you got the job is beyond me. Either that or you’re brilliantly smart and have figured out how to play the system. Either way, I don’t like you and I hope your baby splits you like a watermelon when you give birth soon.
Moreover, I hope you don’t ever come back from maternity leave. I can feel myself getting more and more twitchy by the day when I look across the tiny aisle and see you with your chin in your hand, staring off into space, working hard at doing absolutely fucking nothing. I want to shake everybody else that works with us until they realize just how little you do, how often you sneak out way too early, and how they have you to thank for their bits of extra work.
Dear Old Man
Old Man, you really piss me off. Your habit of giggling in your annoying accent at the every corner drives me up the wall. Your inability to comprehend the simplest of instructions that deviate from your daily rote baffles me. How you have worked here so long and can still be so fucking stupid is beyond me.
Also I don’t know WTF you are doing back there at lunchtime when you finally sit at your desk, but for the love of Pete don’t fucking jab at the “enter” key so loudly! A prominent and forceful bang of the key does nothing for your document, it doesn’t emote anger or frustration. It just pisses me the fuck off and is killing your keyboard.
Dear Mr. Ed
I call you that because you crunch on crunchy things all day long, and one of my biggest pet peeves is hearing people chew food. Even if your mouth is closed, I can hear you crunching on the carrot and frankly it makes me want to sneak meat into your potato salad. Your inability to sit still for more than 10 goddamn minutes is hell on my alt-tab abilities of switching screens so that people walking by don’t see that I’m not doing work at that second.
I don’t like you. You’re loud. You’re an idiot. And that goddamn hearing aid works better than you let on so cut it the fuck out. You do too know when you’ve farted and if you can’t hear it you surely can feel it and if not then you need to visit your proctologist more often.
Dear Girly Giggler
I don’t know who you are, since I can’t see over the partition one aisle over, but I hear you all day long relating some “funny” story in hushed tones while you giggle this high-pitched breathy giggle that kinda sounds like you’re crying and it makes me want to shove a worn-for-a-week-straight sock in your mouth and cover it with 4 layers of ducttape or at the very least punch you in the nose and *deep breath* YOU MAKE ME STABBY!
Dear Mr. Midlife Crisis
You drive a red sportscar. You walk around with the gait of “my shit don’t stink” and your pompous mouth never fucking shuts. You stroll by and stare like you’re a king gazing at this kingdom.
I’m pretty sure that you have a small penis. And you’re annoying. I hope you make a lot of money at your job in which you walk around chatting more than you actually work because that’s the only way you’re going to keep your wife.
Dear Nosy Nelly
You know that plant of mine that’s on my desk and in my basket and that I bought? Guess what? IT’S MINE, BITCH. So I don’t have a green thumb. If I want to let it go ahead and die the whole way, I will. I don’t care if you have to walk by it. Leave it alone! Get your scrawny fingers out of there and quit pruning my goddamn plant without asking me, getting water and dirt all over my desk and watering it when I JUST WATERED IT. It’s dying. I didn’t need your expert opinion to figure that out. Hands off, bitch. And pick up your feet, you shuffle like a 4 year old.
Dear iPod, headphones, and Pandora Radio
Without you, I might have killed a co-worker by now, or at least become addicted to valium or sneaking a joint in the ladies room. Thank you for providing me with the aural escape so that I don’t have to listen to these hyenas and chimps. I owe ya one.