Thursday, July 28, 2005

This has nothing to do with you. Go away.

Musketeer #2 just walked into the office, coming back from a meeting, and as he passed my cube he said:

Musketeer #2: Did you hear? Goodenow just resigned.

Me: He did?!

Nutjob (getting up out of her cube and walking toward us): Huh? Who resigned?

Musketeer #2: Yeah, I just heard it on ESPN. I told you that would happen!

Me: Yeah, I guess it was inevitable.

Nutjob: What? (silence) Oh... I guess I'm left out of this one.

Yes. When you become a hockey fan, then talk to me. Until then, go root for whatever team your current boyfriend likes and act like you've been a fan of that team for your whole life even though you've never even seen one game, ever.

Thanks for sharing

I am getting ready to leave for vacation. A whole week without any of these maniacs, whatever shall I do? Consequently my boss and I have been on the phone all day, since she won't be in tomorrow and she's starting to get anxious about spending a whole week without me. What if a check comes in for this guy? What if a check comes in for that guy? What if we get one of those really hairy transactions?, etc.

Just a few minutes ago she called to tell me to re-fax the reports I sent to her, since her fax machine is broken.

Me: Is it that ribbon again, do you need to replace it?

Her: No, it's broken, dead. It's in the garbage can. That ribbon got stuck one too many times on a day when I have my period.

Me (laughing): Oh, it's been one of those days, has it?

Her (picking up the phone to take me off speaker and whispering conspiratorially): Look, I'm sitting here with toilet paper wadded up in my pants because there are six freaking floors in this building and NOT ONE OF THEM has a machine that works!

It took me a minute to realize she meant the outdated old "vending machines" installed in most ladies' rooms that dispense tampons for a quarter. I don't know why she relies on those, because I have never ever found one that actually has anything in it.

Me: Why don't you run out to the drugstore?!

Her: Oh, I don't have time for that! Argh... my pischi (sp?) hurts. Damn, you know what I won't be doing this weekend!

Um, ok. Then I don't know what to tell you. And thank you for that mental image.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

Totally not work related or even funny but has to be said...

HOCKEY IS BACK!!!! It's about time.

Friday, July 22, 2005

Things You Don't Expect To See In Your Office Parking Lot

1. A couple making out. Not in a car, standing, in the open air, between two cars. Sheesh, how old are we?

2. A man (not the same man as in the previous example) walking toward the building carrying a shrink-wrapped three-foot-long sausage. There are no food services in this building. He went into the software company's office through the back entrance.

(there is a really dirty comment in there somewhere but I'll leave it to all of your fertile imaginations)

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Anything for a day off

No need for snow days when you've got a brain as creative as Jane's. Case in point, the following conversation, which occurred yesterday.

Jane (huffing and puffing): Can you believe it? Both elevators are broken!

Me: Yeah, I discovered that when I came in. Guess we'll get our exercise today. [We're on the 3rd floor].

Jane: It wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't wearing my flip flops!

Me (sort of talking to myself): Good thing Mary isn't still here. [Mary had trouble walking and would never have made it up those stairs].

Jane: Yeah! That poor older lady who doesn't walk real well is just sitting downstairs waiting for the repair men to come. She has every right to just go home.

I made some kind of noise of agreement.

Jane: In fact, WE have every right to go home!

Me: Sure you do, if you have a disability.

I wanted to add "mental ones don't count", but I thought better of it.

....And further evidence that the men I work with are pigs (as if you needed it). I overheard this comment ending a conversation between two brokers about getting old:

Broker1: I don't mind being a grandfather. It's sleeping with a grandmother that bothers me.

Har har fucking har. Like your wrinkly saggy anatomy is pleasant to look at either, you old coot.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Typhoid Mary

Following is an email exchange between Jane and CheapSkate. (CheapSkate is not in our office, he's in the other office, heretofore known as the "southern office").

From: Jane
Sent: Wednesday, July 13, 2005 2:25 PM
To: CheapSkate
Cc: PartnerInCrime
Subject: Awards Plaque


PartnerInCrime will order another Deal of the Year plaque for you for your office. PartnerInCrime will have the plague delivered directly to the southern office. Please let me know if you do not receive it in a couple of weeks. Thanks and have a great day!

Executive Assistant


From: CheapSkate
Sent: Wednesday, July 13, 2005 2:41 PM
To: Jane
Subject: RE: Awards Plaque


I’ll keep the plaque, but will skip the plague if that’s OK with you.

Thanks for the help!


Oh, and speaking of CheapSkate, I got a voicemail from him that made up for his lack of interest in "approving" my holiday card choice last year. (For you newer readers, I have been working here for 9 years, and have picked a suitably non-religious boring holiday card every year. Every year CheapSkate requests to see a copy of it so he can scan it for anything that remotely resembles Christmas symbolism. Last year he disappointed me and didn't even mention it).

I was out of the office for a few days, feeling under the weather, and when I returned I had 16 voice mails, most of which were actually about pretty pressing matters. And then there was this one from CheapSkate:

"Hi Silent, CheapSkate here. I was wondering if we'd picked a Christmas card yet this year... and if we had, I'd like to see a copy of it. Thanks".

Well, let me just move that to the top of my to-do list, considering that it's already JULY and we haven't picked our Christmas card yet!

Tuesday, July 12, 2005


I've long held that the reason Jane despises Nutjob so much (besides the obvious) is that she is just like her. Her neediness and attention-seeking behavior has been ratcheted up several notches in the past months. It's like the two of them are having some bizarre competition.

About a week ago, Jane went to HeadHoncho and told him that she had her resume out and was looking for another job because she isn't happy here. Unfortunately for her, the things that are making her unhappy aren't things we can fix, so there was no begging by HeadHoncho for her to stay (something which I'm sure is eating at her). She is leaving because she's a paranoid nutcase who thinks the whole office is spreading nasty rumors about her behind her back. Don't flatter yourself, lady.

So yesterday, she was showing me a few things she'd handled while I was out on vacation for a few days, and I told her about a rediculous voicemail I got from one of the brokers. As she was walking out of my cube she turned on the drama.

Jane: Well, it will be really interesting to see what is said to me today.

I didn't want to take the bait so I didn't say anything, and she sighed loudly.

Jane: Some very interesting comments are made to me in this place.

Me: Uh.... ok.

Jane (at this point back in her cube): Oh, I'm not talking about you. I'm not talking about anything you say. Oh.. just forget I ever said it!

She may have heard my eyes rolling in their sockets through the cubicle partition. Give me a break. Something is going on though, because last night when I left, my boss had called Jane into her office and they were talking for quite a while with the door closed. I hope to God HeadHoncho didn't change his mind and decide to offer her more money or less hours or something to get her to stay.

And on the Nutjob front....

I've mentioned before how you can't walk into the kitchen without Nutjob following you in to see what you're going to eat. Yesterday afternoon I passed by the kitchen and happened to look in and saw a broker at the vending machine, with Nutjob hovering over his shoulder, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

Nutjob: Oooooh, mind if I bum one?

Broker: Not at all! In fact, I'll buy you your own packet!

Jane is right about one thing- most people in this office really cater to Nutjob, especially this broker. I don't know what the deal is with him, but he treats her almost with kid gloves. It's as if he knows she's three steps away from the loony bin, the way he patronizes her. She just laps it up and wraps him around her little finger.

Sunday, July 10, 2005

Things you don't need to know about your co-workers

1. They take Viagra.

2. The first time they used it, they took four pills. And then was suprised when "it was up for like six hours!" (Dude, you're lucky you didn't go into a coma).

3. They recently broke up with their girlfriend and came into the office distributing said Viagra to all males present, regardless of age, because "well I won't be needing it anymore!".

The only thing more disturbing than thinking about the General taking Viagra is knowing that half a dozen guys in the office are walking around with boners because of him. Actually, the fact that I know any of this at all is more disturbing than all of it. This all came about in a conversation with Musketeer #1, who was feeling quite chatty one morning recently. He was standing by my cube, shooting the shit, when JerseyGirl flounced by to give me her timesheet. Musketeer #1 saw her before I did.

Musketeer #1: Whoa, is that lingere?

JerseyGirl: What? No, it's just a shirt! It doesn't look like lingere! (coming around to my side of the cube) Is this inappropriate?

Me: Well... everything's covered.

She was wearing a silky black camisole type top that had a floral print that did indeed look like lingere, and edged with beige lace and the neckline and around the bottom. Did I say neckline? I meant cleavage-line.

Musketeer #1: I bought my wife something that looks just like that and she sleeps in it. Seriously!

JerseyGirl (walking away): Well, it's not lingere.

Musketeer #1: Well it's as nice as those white pants you were wearing the other day.

I just stared at him. Obviously he misinterpreted my look.

Musketeer #1: Don't worry, we talk about you too. I'm not going to tell you what we say though.

Me: Good! I don't what to know. I'm just amazed that you guys talk about us at all. You know, we girls don't sit around talking to each other about who's butt looks nice today.

And from there he launched into his gossip about the General and his Viagra. Really, after the mishap with the dirty pictures, you'd think he'd be a bit more selective about the information he shares.