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.
Monday, October 25, 2010
You'll be GWHTLC someday, IYKWIM
Listen, you little recent college graduate buttwads. I’ve been working with some of you since May, when you were lucky enough to land a job in this piss poor economy, and I’ve come to a realization: Aside from a select few, you’re lazy, coddled whiners.
As a seasoned professional, I’d like to offer you some free workplace advice. Unless you’re happy with your inauspicious beginnings, which I suspect some of you are, it would behoove you to heed my advice. I’ll try to make it as easy as possible for you to understand with some text-speak, since I know your robotic brains can synthesize little else. Ready?
1. You need to CTS (Cut the shit)
It’s not okay for your boyfriend/significant other to stop by the office every day during business hours and to talk for hours. You can see him during your allotted break, which is called your lunch hour. It’s bad enough your boyfriend can’t pull up his pants and we have to look at his bunched-up boxers. Do you really think we find your giggling and blushing marathons endearing?
2. IBYNTP (I’m begging you not to procreate)
Do not tell me you stopped taking the pill because of, like, wicked cramps. First, that falls under something called TMI, or too much information. Second, you’re asking me to add my .02, which is that you should keep taking the pill because, with his pants down around his ankles, your boyfriend seems primed to inseminate something. Please, for the sake of humanity, don’t take a chance on that being you.
3. IWKY (I will kill you)
Just because your brain cannot function without technology does not entitle you to simultaneously watch Youtube, update your status on Facebook, send emails, instant message and talk on the phone while you’re working.
You’re sitting in a lifeless gray cubicle because you have a job to do, and—news flash—that job doesn’t entail being entertained. And I swear, if one of you little assholes gives me another irritated look when I remind you to disconnect yourself until your work is done, I’m going to strangle you with one of those old-fashioned phone cords.
4. URNMC (You are not Miley Cyrus)
This is a place of work, not a strip club or rock concert. We don’t want to see your bra straps, underwear, pajamas, miniskirts, concert t-shirts or sweatpants. And thigh-high boots? Really?
5. GAFC (Get a fucking clue)
If you see your supervisor sitting at his/her desk around 12:30 and they are chewing something, chances are that person is in the throes of what is known as a working lunch.
I’d like to suggest that you GAFC and leave that person alone for the next 15 minutes. Do not, I repeat do not, pull up a chair and start asking questions like, “When are raises done?” or “I know I only started two days ago but can I have Friday off so my friends and I can go to Vegas?”
6. GTFU (Grow the fuck up)
Business hours are called such for a reason. Don’t show up an hour late and expect the office to be sympathetic because you’re “not a morning person.” Many of us barely slept because of crying or sick kids or because we were trying to squeeze in a quickie with our partner after remembering it had been several months.
And for the love of all that’s holy, don’t raise your hand during a staff meeting and suggest we change the meeting time to later in the day because you have trouble concentrating before 10 a.m.
7. N1W2CURDSF (No one wants to see your damn smiley faces)
Professional emails do not include emoticons. I cannot stress this enough.
8. GOVAY (Get over yourself)
If your work is mediocre, I’m helping you by telling you that.
I know you grew up during a time when the whole team got medals and when your parents sung the praises of every piece of macaroni artwork you brought home, even though you ate the glue instead of actually using it, but this is the real world. We don’t do a dance when you poo. We don’t care about your fragile ego; it’s not our fault you were overparented.
Ironically enough, I’d like to conclude by saying TYVM. Working with you has given me a glimpse into the tragedy that belies parents who live with their heads up their kids’ butts. I hope Junior fails miserably at something, so he understands the value of humility. I hope he has to work for the things he wants, so he understands pride. I hope he’s told by someone he admires that he needs to try harder, so he understands the value of fortitude.
And finally, I hope there are better role models in 2020 so he understands the value of a good belt.