That Woman in the Office

Everyone knows That Woman. She's overweight, she dresses like she's in the 1990s in rural West Virginia, no one knows quite what she does, and she drives a scooter around the office. Every office has her, right? I felt a great need to write about That Woman because I just passed by her office and through her cracked door (adorned with an uplifting comic and a sickeningly sweet picture of a dog and a kitten getting along way too well) I see her, head down on the desk, sleeping. I don't think this would be an acceptable practice in any other office except for mine. What really irks me is that she is bold enough to keep her door cracked, daring you to catch her, taunting you with her ability to nap under the fluorescent lights and on a desk full of plaques with quirky quotes and bobble head cats. Do I despise her or, dare I say, admire her? I would also like to point out that my organization recently made some pretty drastic layoffs in the past month. How did she make this cut? Better question, what were these other people doing that did not make the cut? I get it, with budget cuts and what not there is not a lot of work going around the office. I've watched every episode of Downton Abbey (even the unreleased second season). Trust me. I get it. But sleeping? SLEEPING? And getting PAID? I come in at 10:00 AM and no one notices. There are better places to sleep. At least, for Pete's sake, close the door so I don't have to be reminded that when I am laid off, you will still be here, scootering into your office with your giant translucent frame 1983 glasses and blatantly sleeping on your desk contributing nothing more to this company than your snide comments about the "slutty" attire of the office females (true story). I wore an over-sized sweater and giant scarf today, thank you very much. I'm sorry I don't own elastic waisted denim. I'll get on that right after I finish these 2 episodes of 30 Rock, catch up on the latest posts on Facebook and watch 3 more versions of Sh*t People Say. Sleeping and getting paid... terrible.

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Beer Me a Kleenex.

Being sick at work may be God's way of reminding us that we have sinned. It may be worse than water boarding, but I really can't say. Maybe we should subject suspected terrorists to the swine flu then have them sit at a desk with nothing to do but look at an Inbox with no new messages and chug Emergen-C in the hope that the vitamin attack will make them feel better, but it won't, it just won't. Then maybe they'll tell their secrets. Or just tickle the secrets out of them. Who likes being tickled? No one.

Anyway, I hate being sick in the office. Everyone looks at me and thinks "Does she know that her glasses are incredibly crooked? And why is her face so blotchy? Why is she mouth breathing so aggressively? She is a disgusting human being." They're all thinking that I know it. And yes, I know my glasses are crooked. I sat on them. Thanks for reminding me. I want to talk to no one, yet I'm constantly waiting for someone to come and talk to me. And when they do, all I want is for them to leave. And when they leave, I want them back. Apparently, not only are my sinuses off kilter, so are my emotions. Not even my favorite YouTube videos can make this hazy feeling and awkward sweaty coldness go away: drinking out of cups just makes me feel more confused; grape lady makes my head (and feet?) pound; The slow Loris just makes me want to go back to bed. IS THERE NO MERCY?? US enemies would never be able to survive these conditions.

I find solace only in the knowledge that I did not have to pay for these tissues I'm rifling through and the fact that in a mere 2 hours I will be able to leave this place of misery and crawl into my bed with a box of stolen tissues and dream of a day when I can breathe through my nose again. America: the land where dreams come true.
Amen.

The Journey to the Center of the Office

The journey to the coffee maker is a brutal and daunting task, but incredibly necessary nonetheless. I repeat a preparation routine every morning to work up the energy and courage to take that walk down the hall, into the kitchen, to obtain a steaming mug of tasteless, low grade coffee/water. After performing the futile, yet compulsory email check, I sign on to Gchat to give my morning salutations to my fave peeps, and quickly move on to work's best friend- Facebook. Sadly, I read the entire newsfeed up to the point where I left off the afternoon before, because, obviously, God will smite me if I am uniformed on one person's trip to NYC this weekend!!!! (3 DAYS!!!!) or another person's classic mupload of an embarrassing photo of him/her as a kid (OMG look how chubby I was!!!!!! lol). After finishing looking at a distant relative's pictures of a new puppy and watching a YouTube video of cats meowing, I force myself to face the truth: my need for coffee is greater than my dread of making small talk with a co-worker on the way to the kitchen. I push back my slightly wobbly office chair, stand up without conviction, slump my shoulders, look directly at the floor, and begin the long walk to the galley.

On this journey, I have to pass the office of my boss- the world's most awkward person. Eyes averted, I quickly slip by, hoping against hope he doesn't come out at the same time. Once I make it to the kitchen, I am a giraffe at a Saharan watering hole, exposed and awkward prey for those hungry hyenas to attack me with a chipper "Good morning!"; or, on a bad day, my boss (in this metaphor- the lion, the most feared of predators) will pounce with a "Hey, Anika. So, uh... you all ready for Christmas?" Oh, the tragedy, the gore... If I'm lucky, I push the Keurig button for a 6oz brew, and make it out of the kitchen alive, without a lackluster "Hello, how are you?" spoken. I find refuge for a few moments at my sane co-worker's desk, before I make the same dangerous expedition back to my office hole. I return only to find someone lost their phone last night (UGH iPhone #3 here I come! lol) and two people I don't know just became friends.

Vomming at Work: Acceptable?

I think we can all say that we've been hung over at work a time or two. Too many celebratory beers at someone's birthday dinner, a work happy hour becomes more fun than you expected, an ABC Family movie gets the best of you and your $5.99 bottle of wine. I can handle a little headache and lack of sleep, especially when the only email I receive all day is a reminder that my mailbox is getting full. Is it acceptable to be hung over at work? Obvs. But, the greater question is this: Is it acceptable to vom in the office? This is a question I have only begun to ponder today, but I can imagine this is a query as ancient as the invention of the midweek happy hour. If I do decide to expel the remnants of my big night out on the scene crashing an office Christmas party at a local bar on a Thursday, where should I go? Trash can under my desk? Girls' bathroom? Girls' 2nd floor bathroom? Should I bring a scout to guard the door? I am baffled by these questions and impressed by vommers of ages past who have accomplished this feat. I think my conclusion is this: do not vom, find some alka seltzer and get back to the day's important tasks at hand- reading the Today article on the cat with 26 toes and maybe taking a nap facing the wall so no one will notice.

Managerial Motivation

Boss arrives: 1:50 PM
Boss leaves: 4:10 PM

Lunch

I figured since this is my first official Blog Post I would make it special. What better topic to talk about then everybody's favorite part of the work day: lunch. Every morning, around 11:55, my stomach begins to growl. Not necessarily because it's hungry, but generally because it cannot stand to go through anymore pictures of girls I was friends with in high school, pictures of people I met once in a bar in college and somehow am friends with on Facebook and probably know enough about them to be a solid work reference, or, most likely, pictures of me from circa 2006. The rumbling intensifies as I attempt to stifle the hunger for food and mental stimulation a little longer by doing something of substance: reading the homepage of FoxNews or checking Suri's Burn Book. This battle to quiet my stomach's cry for substance and my mind's need to see real human flesh is a simple, daily attempt to make lunch come a little later and therefore closer to my time of departure, and perhaps to prolong the anticipation of human interaction. Finally, by 12:15 or 12:20 I will get a call from a desperately famished co-worker:
"Hey."
"Hey."
"What's up."
"Nothing. You want to eat?"
"Yea."
"Ok...... Bye."
I provide my customary "brb"s to my Gchat VIPs, and I head down the hall to heat up my unsatisfactory frozen Healthy Choice and listen to a hearty discussion of the most recent shenanigans of my co-workers' dogs. Thus concludes the most exciting part of my day.