Thursday, January 27, 2005

In or out of the bag?

Nutjob must be coming out of her funk, because she's slowly coming back to her center-of-attention self. Yesterday, she was in Musketeer #2's office and happened to ask where PartnerInCrime was. Musketeer #2 told her he was out at lunch, and jokingly said "he's half in the bag". There was a silence in which I swear I could hear her blinking at him, and the next thing I know, I hear the wispy little-girl ditz voice she uses when playing dumb:

Nutjob: What do you mean?

Musketeer #2, incredulous: You never heard that expression before?

Nutjob: No!

Musketeer #2: I can't believe you never heard that before, I thought everyone had heard that. It means he's drunk.

Musketeer #2 (coming out of his office): Musketeer #3, have you heard that expression?

Musketeer #3: Yeah. I actually spend half my time in the bag.

Musketeer #2: Well, you're Irish. I guess that makes sense.

Nutjob: Well, that explains it! I'm Jewish. [No shit, really?] All we care about is eating!

Musketeer #2 went on for another minute or two, muttering about how he thought everyone knew that expression. He even asked me if I'd heard it. Finally he went back into his office and things returned to normal. Not two minutes later, in walked PartnerInCrime. As he passed by Nutjob's desk, she jumped up and yelled "Are you drunk?!", laughing like an idiot.

PartnerInCrime: Uhhh.... no. But I wish I was.

Don't we all, PIC. Don't we all.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

Today's lesson

A very astute friend gave me the "Worst Case Scenario Survival Guide: Work" page-a-day calendar for Christmas. Some of the tidbits are mildly amusing (like how to escape if you get locked in the bathroom), some are interesting, and some are just plain bland. I've decided to make today's entry BlogCompany-specific. (My revisions are in italics)

Today's bit of life-saving info is:


Fast-track: To put something on "rush" status.
The best way to assure that what you need addressed immediately will sit on the person's desk for a week.

No-brainer: Something easy to accomplish or comprehend.
Something even Nutjob can accomplish without mental strain.

Outside the box: Creative, never been done before.
Charging the company's FedEx account for the shipping of your tennis racket from the airport where you left it to your house.

Slippery Slope: Potential to go wrong quickly.
Allowing one administrative assistant to get away with coming in a half hour late each day.

Put to bed: To finish or conclude a project.
Alternatively, "shit the bed": to fall apart unexpectedly. As in "That deal shat the bed".

Friday, January 14, 2005

Fly away, birdie

This weekend Nutjob is going on her booty call. I'm starting to feel echoes of the Hawaii obsession, because she has talked nonstop about this trip since she walked in the door this morning. She has asked every single person who walks by her desk (except for me, the office Black Widow) if they think her flight will be delayed. This then turns into a discussion of the weather, and in Musketeer #2's case, bitter complaints about the fact that we haven't seen the sun for two whole days.

She has also run into Jane's cube at least 5 times so far (she's in there now) to show her a bag she bought, a pair of shoe's she's bringing with her, some kind of beach getup, etc. She prattles on about each object- where she bought it, when she used it last, etc. The current fixation is a bag she'd like to take. She has asked at least three people whether they think the bag is too big to take as a "purse". When the person balks she says "Well! People take laptops!!!" A discussion of how many carryons you're allowed to bring leads into a discussion about boarding early, which she apparently must do because she gets cold, and has to amass a pile of blankets and pillows before anyone else gets near her. God help me, she's only been here for an hour and I'm ready to kill her.

I am getting some amount of amusement out of the fact that she keeps running to Jane to show her all this stuff, when I know Jane couldn't care less but is too polite to blow her off.

Also... last night at quitting time, the Three Musketeers, the General and PartnerInCrime went down the street to the local watering hole. They didn't invite any of us, which is fine by me, but apparently it bothered Nutjob. This morning, as each of the revellers walked past her desk, she loudly asked "So! How was drinking last night!" Most of the guys just humored her and said they had a good time, but the General must have got the hint because he apologized for not inviting her. She promptly responded, in her newfound snotty tone of voice: "Oh. Well, I was busy anyway."

There is a rumor that we will be moving soon. I will make offerings to all the gods that my cube is nowhere near hers in the new space.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

I spoke too soon

Well I knew it would get back to abnormal sometime soon... I was just in PartnerInCrime's office, dropping off some work and chatting with him when I uncovered the first nugget of Nutjob weirdness for the week. See, PIC just bought a house this past spring. (Speaking of weird, he had been living at home with his parents into his early 30's, bought the house, and then didn't move in for 5 months. But I digress.) Nutjob, who also lives with her parents, at age 50, has a strange compulsion and feels that she must bring in found objects from her house and give them to people. So, when I spied a set of sheets, brand new and still in their plastic wrap, sitting on the floor, I asked him if they were from her.

PIC (rolling eyes): Yeah. I don't know what to do with them.

Me (feeling skeevy): Why did she give you sheets?

PIC: I don't know. She has been talking about it since Thursday, how she has these sheets she wants to give me. She said they're from her mother or something but she's not going to use them...

We both stare at the package for a minute.

PIC: They're kind of girly, aren't they?

Me: Yes. Very girly.

PIC: And they're the wrong size anyway... I don't know what to do with them. I should just leave them on her desk.

I told him to sell then on eBay.

Hmmmm... I have an enema* I haven't used yet, I bet I could give it to someone at work!

*Disclaimer: Ew, ew, ew. No I do not use enemas. I was trying to convey the creepiness of giving someone something so personal, but I just ended up really grossing myself out.

Off to a slow start

Nutjob and the Three Musketeers must have been taking their medication lately, because there hasn't been much of interest going on. Except of course for the conversation about gun ownership, which I will relate at a later time.

But I thought I'd let you in on a few observations of some habits of my co-workers. Nutjob's nose-picking booger-eating affinity is already well documented, but here are some others:

Jane has the habit of repeatedly rubbing her hands together, with the same motion you make if you are trying to warm them up after having been out in the cold. I can hear her doing this on the other side of my cube wall, and it always makes me think of 1) a fly continuously rubbing it's front legs together; or 2) Montgomery Burns. I half expect to hear her whisper "Eeeeexcellent".

The Mosquito, I just noticed, while she's standing and talking to me, scratches various places on her upper inner thigh. It's like a more subtle version of what my boss does when she runs into my cube, looks around to make sure no one is watching, and scratches at the hair growing back in. (I will leave it at that. You're all intelligent enough to piece it together).

And speaking of scratching, HeadHoncho has the embarassing habit of unwittingly (I hope!) adjusting himself in the middle of a conversation.

And of course, since I'm an equal opportunity revealer, I will tell you all what my strange habit is. I rub my nose. I'm paranoid that to others this looks like I'm *wiping* my nose on my hand when in fact what I'm doing is sort of scratching it. I have persisent, year-round allergies, and my nose always kind of tingles. I have discovered that I've developed the habit of rubbing the very end of it without even realizing it. It's a little embarassing.

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

Back for 2005!

Sorry for the radio silence, boys and girls. The holidays usually go one way or the other; either they provide lots of revelry and interesting stories, or there is absolutely nothing, due to the morgue-like quality of the office coupled with my busy time, closing the books for the year. This year it seems to have been the latter.

Added to that is the fact that I just don't feel very jolly, with a nasty HR situation swirling around for the last three weeks (see the post on What Not To Do at work). For the sake of my job, should anyone I work with stumble upon this blog, I'm not going to go into detail about it, except for one little tidbit, which there is no harm in sharing.

Jane has decided that she no longer considers me a friend, because I "betrayed" her by taking a complaint she had to upper management. Let's step back a moment, shall we? I am an office manager. If you reveal to me that you saw a very explicit picture on someone's computer in the office, and that you were so offended by it that it's still bothering you four days later, I have an obligation to address that concern. Even though you did not file a formal complaint, because you'd rather bitch about how it wasn't handled correctly than actually address it, by telling me that you were offended, I must address it. If I do not, that leaves me and the company exposed (no pun intended). So don't get all huffy and act like I've been gossiping with your most intimate secrets, I was just doing my job.

Ahem. After Jane confronted me and demanded to know "where she stood" she has decided that she can't talk to me "as a friend" anymore. Which is fine with me, because I sure as hell don't need "friends" like that. As long as she remains civil to me in the office, which she has so far, I'm not going to lose any sleep over her rediculous insecurities.

Other than that, Happy New Year, everyone!