One of the things I want to do in 2014 is be a more consistent blogger. You are welcome. A result of this will be your being forced to read some of the trivial things that live in my head. Again, prégo.
Here is a list of things you can do to ensure that I hate having your office within 10 feet of my "office." I put my office in quotes because, although I do have not one, but three doors, I also have a half-wall-shelf-thingee on the front of my desk, and that makes me look like a receptionist. Which I am not, but I would completely understand if you think I am. It's fine with me, really.
1. Snort. Please, for the love of all things good and wonderful, please, please God, please don't snort where I can hear you. Don't clear your sinuses. Oh, for fuck's sake, please just go in the bathroom and blow your nose. I do not need to hear your allergies. Gah. Ross.
Once upon a time, I had a shared office with two other girls. It was a big office and really comfortable, but this one lady, Peggy? (Seriously, that was her name) Peggy had the allergies. Peggy liked to drain her sinuses in a big ol' loogey kind of way, and it was AWFUL. The other girl, Lisa? She cringed for a while, then she took action. This is how the afternoons were:
Peggy: SWWWOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRKKKKK
Lisa: BEEEP
Yeah, not joking. Lisa beeped every time Peggy cleared her sinuses. AND PEGGY NEVER NOTICED.
Please to not snort. I swear to God, I'd rather deal with Indians-from-India-that-have-not-acclimatized-to-American-bathing-standards (this is NOT racist, somebody from that place I used to work please get my back on this one) than deal with the snorting.
2. Music. 'kay, look. Jam to your tunes to your heart's content. I do, sometimes. I get it. But here's the trick. Point your everloving speakers right at you, and turn that shit down. You know what is worse than hearing your office-neighbor's music? Just barely hearing the tinny sound of a tiny bit of treble, knowing there is music that goes to it, but not being able to hear it, AND said tinny sound being just loud enough to be heard over your own jam. If YOUR music drowns out MY Humpty Dance, I'm going to be pissed.
All that being said, if you randomly break out into song, particularly in a Billie Holiday - or David Sedaris doing Billie Holiday - voice, I'm all for that. That's my joy in life. Please don't stop doing that.
3. Phone Etiquette If you call anybody, and I mean anybody, "man" on the phone, I will mentally stab you with a pencil. If you fail to say "bye" on a phone call, said pencil will meet your eyeball. If you fail to leave your door open while you are having convos with your spouse or other family members, for my nosy-ass-pleasure, I will cut you in real life. Don't take away my little joys, people. I want your personal gossip. I want to know your dinner plans and what you wore and how your mother said such-and-such. DO NOT SUCK AWAY MY JOY.
While we are on this topic, here's another little bit of advice from me to you. When you buzz me to ask a question, and I pick up the line and say "go ahead," don't say, "Question." I fucking already know you have a question. And you BEST say "bye" when we are done with this little intercom convo, too.
4. My shelf-thingee is not a place for you to put your crap. Don't leave shit on it. For that matter, don't ever put shit on it. Don't do it. Don't stand in front of my desk to talk to your clients. Take them to your space, take them outside, take them wherever the fuck you want to, as long as it is away from my desk. If I am feeling particularly nice, I may offer them water or a cup of coffee. If I do this, and I probably will, I will NOT clean up their cup or throw away their trash. Your guest, your trash. If this is left on my shelf-thingee, I will envision carrying it all and putting it on your desk for you to deal with. All that being said, any candy, cupcake, brownie, bag of chips, alcoholic beverage, or other snack food left on the shelf thingee will be eaten immediately by the gnomes that live in my face, which I call my teeth. It is also acceptable to leave me jewelry. I prefer silver to gold.
5. No prank calling. Our office is not exactly new-fangled. Our caller ID works, sometimes, but most of the time it shows "Cell Phone" or "Jefferson Pa." Not helpful, and also weird, in that we don't work in Jefferson Parish. Whatevs. That means that, if you call in to me at work, there's at best a 50/50 chance that I will know definitively that it is you before I answer. So. If you call in, and I answer, do not fuck with me. Don't pretend to be a client. Don't put on a silly accent or ask me ridiculous questions. Do not do that. I'll think to myself, "self, this is probably the asshole whose office is next to mine, but I do occasionally interact with some pretty whack-job members of society, so it's best to not take a chance." When I do discover that it is, indeed, you, using a semi-Borat accent and asking me about something absurd, my respect for you will fall lower than my respect level for the real crazy people who occasionally call. They can't help themselves. You fucking can, and you fucking better.
6. Do Not Ring The Bell. There is a bell on the shelf-thingee, and it is there to alert me if somebody has walked in and needs help, while I am, say, at the copier, or eating lunch, or in the potty, or in somebody else's office. If the bell rings, I turn into Pavlov's dogs and come running. If I have put down my $8.00 Subway Sandwich (toasted!) and it was you just being a dick, I'm going to consider slashing your tires. I'll state that we have a few clients who are bell-happy, and it grates my nerves, but I will be much more forgiving to them. They do it a few times a year. You do it every day, and I'm going to go all crazy-ass batshit yelling at you one day, and you will find it funny, but you will try not to laugh, which will make you want to laugh even more, and that's just going to make me that much madder, and then I'm probably going to end up crying, and I've been wearing a lot of eye makeup lately, so if I cry, it's going to be BAD, so for the love of anything and everything good in the whole motherfucking universe, do NOT RING THE BELL.
That's enough ranting for today. I feel better now that we've had this talk. Now go sing me some Billie Holiday and shut the fuck up.
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