Scenes from the office
I have been a bit of a naughty blogger the past few days, but I have a good reason. A few good reasons. Such as:
1. I've been up until like 5 a.m. the past three nights.
2. I've been up until like 5 a.m. the past three nights.
3. I've been up until ...
OK, fine. One good reason. But it IS a good reason, a good reason that would probably make a good and even great blog post, but I'm sleep-deprived and delirious and I don't know where to start. And knowing where to start is important, because it's kind of a good story. So we'll have to come back to that. Instead ... scenes from work. Which is not nearly as exciting, but in the interim that's what we've got.
Since we work long, crappy days on Sundays, they bring us food sometimes. Tonight we got sub sandwiches. We all get done eating, and then ...
Co-worker 1: Did the sandwiches taste like Windex to you?
Me: Did the ... what? No. Why?
Co-worker 1: Me neither, but those guys said they tasted Windex.
(Co-worker 2 walks by.)
Me: Did the sandwiches taste like Windex to you?
Co-worker 2: Yeah! YEAH! They totally tasted weird!
Me: OK, but Windex? Really? How do you even know what Windex tastes like?
Co-worker 2: Oh, I KNOW. Trust me. (Pauses.) I didn't really care, though, I just kept eating it.
(Walks away, and a few minutes later I get this instant message:)
WTF! I WANTED MY WINDEX ON THE SIDE SO I COULD DIP MY SANDWICH IN IT!
And no, this kind of thing isn't really out of the ordinary.
My friend comes up to me and tosses a postcard on my desk: "Here you go, pervert." It's a photo of a muscle man hanging from a trapeze wearing nothing but a pair of pink and white briefs.
Again, not remotely out of the ordinary.
We have a flat screen that hangs right next to my desk, and this other girl and I can see it. We'll turn it on and then we'll forget about it. And then all of a sudden we'll hear a strange noise and look up to see someone getting the crap beat out of them on Cops, or Homer Simpson chugging beer, or tonight, an infomercial. An infomercial for a machine that cranks out chicken nuggets. Very, VERY creepy-looking chicken nuggets.
And yes, that's the whole story. THAT'S how creepy this machine was.
I've brought in Rolos to put in the candy dish on my desk.
Co-worker 1: I know someone who calls Rolos Rollas.
Me: Did you ever see that movie Spellbound? There was a kid on there from a place called Rolla.
Co-worker 2: I SAW THAT MOVIE! Wasn't that the kid who, like, looked like he was about to go on the roof any second with a gun and start firing away at people?
Me: Um ... yeah.
Co-worker 2: I bet he was home-schooled. All the kids like that are home-schooled.
Co-worker 3 (yelling from over the cubicle): Hey! I was home-schooled!
I call someone a few cubicles away to tell them they did a good job on something. I ask who else worked on it, and then say I'm going to call him next.
Guy: He can already hear you.
Me: No, he cannot.
Guy: Yes, he can. Everyone can hear everything.
Me: That is not true. You can hear me laughing, but not talking. He can't hear me.
Guy: Yes, he can.
Me: No, he can't.
A chorus of people from the other side of the cubicle wall (including the guy I'm talking about): YES, HE CAN!
Something hits me in the back. It's a Rolo. This happens again, oh, a half-dozen more times the rest of the night. Apparently Rolos, in addition to their chocolately shell and creamy caramel filling, are quite fun to throw.
Note to employers: This is what happens when your employees are working a 12-hour day.