Irksome

Every morning, I vow that I will be nicer to a certain coworker that I happen to loathe. When they bustle through the door with their false sense of importance, I always offer a cheerful “Good morning!” and hope that today will be the day I can finally smother the distaste and rise above.

And then they keep on going, without even acknowledging the greeting like a normal human being would. And I hate them all over again.

It doesn’t take much to set me off, but then it wouldn’t take much to placate me, either.

Immature

I’m reverting to my passive-aggressive high school ways.

When items are demanded of me (as they usually are, because no one here grew up with any manners), I smile politely and hand them off.  As soon as the offender’s back is turned, I aggressively flip them off under my desk.

For some reason, this is very satisfying.

The Fridays

Fridays are supposed to be the best day of my workweek and yet (oh, and yet) they are inevitably the worst.

Even though I hate waking up for work on Monday mornings (actually, every weekday morning — my hair is a study in filthy right now), somehow the workday itself always flies by. Getting back in the routine seems so foreign at the start of every week that the sheer novelty of working helps the time to pass.

Fridays, on the other hand? Worst ever. Even after a minor setback at home had me come in at 10:30 instead of 8 this morning, my last day chained to the desk is lasting an eternity. I’ve only been here 5 hours! Insanity.

I can’t wait to cycle home and be done. This week has been like an Everlasting Gobstopper, if they were gross and fun-sucking and lame. Which, actually, they might be, since I’ve never bothered to eat one and find out.

Restaurant Love

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I am super into food. If I didn’t watch myself, I’d turn into a blimp in a matter of days, not weeks or even months. I am that creepy girl who reads and memorizes restaurant reviews and cookbooks.

It makes sense, then, that I can get lost at dinehere.ca for hours. I know I shouldn’t, but sometimes I will base a night out around whether or not a restaurant has been well received by the other foodies of Vancouver. Before I went to Chambar with my girlfriends, I reveled in the good reviews.

On the flip side, I used to work at a fairly well known bakery, and I like to chuckle at the bad ratings we used to receive. Ah, such fun to be young and surly!

On a semi-related note, my parents and I went for a once in a lifetime meal at the French Laundry while I was home. Should I really have spoiled myself for all other meals at the unripe age of 22?

Question:

How does one accidentally recycle a flashlight?

I don’t mean returning the flashlight to some sort of huge factory that deals in re manufacturing said torches.  I mean, how do you accidentally knock a reasonably heavy flashlight into a large container of recyclable paper and not notice?

I’m genuinely curious.

Ahh, bureaucracy

What’s your favourite part about your job? Is it the seemingly endless hoops you have to jump through to get a simple project done? Your demanding boss? Your freakshow co-workers? There are almost too many exciting options to think of, really.

I can deal with a tough boss — I respect someone who has high expectations for themselves and others. I tend to get along with most of my co-workers, so that’s not really an issue for me either. Outdated and bizarre rules, though? GAH, they drive me absolutely nuts!

Oh sweet policy manual, spin me another twisted tale, won’t you? Remind me again why files are scattered haphazardly throughout the server, and even though no one else will organize them and I’m the only one who uses them, I’m absolutely not allowed to move them?

Silly me, I really should know better. Of course the book won’t reveal its secrets before I learn to blindly accept them.

Did you get that memo?

My life is starting to feel like Office Space: pointless emails, meetings about nothing, clichés like “That’s why they call it work!”…my God, I even have a Swingline stapler.

I still find little ways to amuse myself, though — the washroom is only ever used on the company’s time, never on my breaks, and I send high-priority emails to my friend with such important topics as DO YOU WANT TO GO TO LUNCH??

Beers after work never hurt, either.

“Good morning, [employer's office]“

When I was very small, I loved to answer the phone. It was so exciting to have a voice suddenly emanate from that bit of plastic on the wall. A ringing telephone is so full of promise; its cheery bell is the voice of someone saying, “Hello! I am thinking of you! I would like to talk to you, please!”

Now though, after years in various retail and secretarial capacities, that blinking phone on my left is like an obnoxious child, clinging to my legs and whining for attention. Ugh! Go away, awful telephone, I’m not in the mood for this right now!

It’s just that I’m getting sick, see, and my professional telephone voice is harder to summon up when my throat is sore and my eyes must fight to stay open.  Whine whinge etc.

Oh sweet technology!  If I had to work like these ladies did, with no internet and constant supervision, I would have gone out of my mind by now.

At least I can take comfort in the fact that yesterday’s wonderful weather has become today’s dismal grey skies.  I’m not missing much by staying inside, that’s for sure.

Disturbing, but not surprising

I went for lunch with one of my co-workers, as I often do, and on our way back to the office, he started chuckling and pulled a crumpled note out of his back pocket.

Apparently our boss went down to my co-worker’s office to have a chat, and left behind a sheet of notepaper that he’d been carrying around.  On the note were various tasks he wanted me to get done — apparently it’s finally become obvious that I never have anything to do? — but in the top right hand corner?  My name, and “Viagra” written directly beneath it.

Am I allowed to feel slightly unsettled by this?

(This note, apparently from Eisenhower, has nothing to do with the post.  I just needed a visual)