I'm happy this week is over. It was the week of office suggestions, thanks to a few peckerheads who got their panties in a bunch over life’s minutiae. Seriously, folks, if you’re nit-picking the small stuff, do everyone a favor and get yourself a hobby. I don’t care if it’s putting your prize boogers in shadow boxes and labeling them with glitter pens. Just do something.
Monday’s suggestion: Anyone caught using an old planner will be tasered.
See this planner?
It’s the planner issued by the company. Everyone has one. It’s different from last year’s in that last year’s planner started on a Sunday. This year’s starts on a Monday. You’d think a minor detail like that wouldn’t be enough to derail a company but alas, it is.
Since January, everyone’s been playing the "I'm a day off" card. People are missing meetings left and right, and they're blaming it on the planner. So on Monday, it was suggested that we cease and desist from using the old one. New planners are being ordered; we get one when we turn in the old one, which will be recycled. They’ll be given out by name (i.e., you better get your ass to Purchasing and get your life back on track).
Sigh. It was such a lovely excuse while it lasted. I highly recommend it.
Tuesday’s suggestion: No one should be exposed to HPV against his or her will.
One of my marketing co-workers, Linda, was aghast to find a sticky note stuck to her computer. Not because of the message, but because the sticky note was a GARDASIL sticky note (GARDASIL is a vaccine for human papillomavirus, or HPV).
See, Roberta from Accounting is married to a pharmacist and she’s been unloading all his pharmaceutical freebies at work (where's the good stuff?). They finally made their way down to my department. Linda went to the Corporate Head and complained. She shouldn’t have to be exposed to words like papillomavirus. She doesn’t work at Planned Parenthood.
Voila, no more distributing drug paraphernalia at work.
I’m pretty pissed. I love my Abilify and Lexapro pens. They’re the real deal: heavy metal, impressive ink quality, aerodynamics and stuff. Sniffle, sniffle.
Thursday’s suggestion: What are you doing on Facebook at 9:15 a.m. anyway?
You know Facebook has taken over the world when your company needs to have a Facebook policy—about status updates. This is what happened: Co-worker Sue friended a bunch of younger male staffers, then was horrified to see some of their status updates (I know this because I’m “friends” with them too).
The statuses ranged from "Even though your face is huge, bus stop girl, I love the shit out of you girl. Crotchduster" to “Sick of people’s shit eatin grins (probably asshole eating grins) makes me want to punch them in the face.....especially their little golfing fairy status updates!”
Are they eloquent updates? No. Are they glimpses into the homophobic, drunken, shallow lives of 21-year-old boys? Yes. And what does Sue expect? It's Facebook.
I’m happy to report that in this case, the suggestion was for Sue—and others like Sue—to get over it. Sometimes reason can prevail...over herpes.
That should so be a bumper sticker.
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.