The Toilet Paper Bandit

Using the facilities at work has always been troubling for me. For most people, I know they feel the same way I do. I have the hardest time peeing, let alone anything that has to do with #2, in the work commode. Because if someone acutally heard me use the toilet, I would absolutely die. Especially my boss. The CEO is the worst, though. She would most definitely think less of me if she heard me pee. I would get fired (on the spot!) if I had to poop while she was in the bathroom. I'm convinced of it. On my way to the bathroom, I have to convince myself it's ok. I literally have to talk myself into walking to the bathroom. Unfortunately, there is that small handful of people that don't have the same issues as I do. They think going to the bathroom in a public place is natural. What the fuck are they smoking?

First of all, there was my first week at work. I was in the bathroom washing my hands. I had successfuly done my business without anyone bothering me. A co-worker walks in, starts a conversation with me, then continues talking as she enters a stall. She took a shit while talking to me and didn't even skip a beat. Meanwhile, I was turning red and wondering how to get the fuck out of dodge. I still think of that whenever I see her. It was that apalling.

Second, there is a person in the office that uses a pile of toilet paper the size of Mount Everest. The problem is, she deposits said TP at the front of the toilet, and after flushing, the paper stays. Flush after flush, it won't go down. It's always in the same stall, and I have learned to avoid that stall period. When I first started, I tried to be nice and tried to alleviate the problem. The only thing I would do without completely grossing myself out was to keep flushing the toilet over and over, hoping that the water would eventually push the TP in a position that was close enough to get it all the way down the drain and out of my life. The TP wouldn't budge. Hence the complete avoidance of the third toilet from the left, 'cuz who wants to hover over soggy, used TP? It's just gross. Plus, I wonder if she notices, or if she is blind to the piles of TP she leaves for her co-workers. I still need to find out who is the culprit of this travesty, and think of something more creative than toilet-papering her house to get back at her.

So yes, I'm that weirdo at work that checks out the bathroom before they use it. There are many trips I take to that loathed destination in which my plan to actually use the facilities is aborted. I end up pretending to fix my hair or blow my nose...sometimes I'll just turn around and walk out. It's the least I could do, because if someone's in there, they fucking need their privacy just like I do. I'm just trying to be considerate.

In Memoriam: Kinky Boots

I have been missing my precious Kinky Boots. No one gets sexually harassed anymore, and it's just sad. The one thing that scares me is, what happens if Kinky Boots gets mad? I hope he doesn't show up looking like this:

Wouldn't that just be freaky? I'd run and hide. Wouldn't you?

Brazil Nuts

Every Friday morning, we have our department meeting. It's a happy time, since it has been decided since oh, forever, that staff members would bring "treats" in every Friday. We have a treat schedule, and it is one of the most monitored documents we have as a department. Normally, meetings seem to go on forever, and this is the only, and I mean only thing that will get us through. When you have to listen to the Renegade blabber on and on about random telephone calls she made during the week, it drives even the health nuts to grab a donut and chow down. Go figure.

So treats are a big deal. A lot of planning goes into the process, and I will never forget the first time I was assigned to treat duty. No one eats breakfast because they know a nice one will be waiting for them at their Friday morning meeting. There have been full spreads of bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns on warming plates, homemade biscotti and scones, fresh bread with different spreads and jellies, thing like that. It's a big fucking deal and we all like to eat. We EXPECT a good breakfast on Friday.

Picture this: It's Friday morning, and everyone is in the meeting room awaiting food. The meeting cannot start until we have a plate of food in front of us. Who is in charge? We are seven minutes past the meeting start time. There is no food. You see, the person in charge of bringing in our lovely breakfast is the extra guy that has been "loaned" to us for two years now. Apparently, his employer hasn't missed him, and is willing to continue paying his salary while works for someone else. My humble opinion is that this employee is worthless and the company he works for is so sick of him, they are happy as little larks just not having him around. Forget his salary, they don't have to deal with his sleeping on the job and continuous cell phone chatter while he bothers to be awake.

Finally, (not to mention 7 minutes late) this guy comes in with a paper grocery bag. Hey, at least he didn't forget to bring something...we wonder what it could be? The humble presentation turns out to be two containers of nuts. One being an already opened package of mixed nuts, the other, the largest can of honey roasted peanuts I have ever seen in my life. Both are generic. Nuts! That's what I had for breakfast this morning! A big handful of generic nuts, that have already been finger fucked by people I do not know!

As I was looking at my bowl of nuts (hey, I was hungry and didn't have any other options), I noticed the Brazil Nut. I was planning on eating all the other nuts, and throwing the Brazil Nuts away. I don't like Brazil Nuts. I don't know anyone that likes Brazil Nuts. But whenever I have seen a jar of mixed nuts, they are always there. Are they there because they're big and cheap and just fill up space? Cashews are too expensive, so they add more Brazil Nuts? Or is it just a joke? Ha! You got stuck with a bunch of Brazil Nuts! I dare you to eat the bastard nuts! Or...is it a last ditch effort by grandparents to have a topic of conversation about the way things were and say, "When I was your age, I called those nuts 'Nigger Toes'!!"? It seems to me Brazil nuts have been kept around by cheap, boring old fogies that want to save money and have something to talk about.

And then I came to this conclusion: The guy who brought the nuts is our Brazil Nut. No one really wants him, he's cheap, but in the long run, he makes great conversation. Instead of Kinky Boots, we have the Brazil Nut to make fun of.

Things could be much worse.

Kinky Boots gets Booted!

...and we just scratched the surface!

I know I know, he was HR, and that means he's not part of our office family. No one should really be sad. But I am. I’m sad because he was such an easy target…a target for so many seriously hilarious stories! Damn it all to hell. Why can’t people put up with being sexually harassed, anyway? He was just being friendly…

Things could have worked out so differently. He didn’t need to ask Nice if she wanted to buy a dog because his girlfriend’s Shih Tzu got ‘knocked up’…nor did he need to shout, “What a great view I have! In fact, I have the best view in the entire room!” when he was sitting across from four female co-workers. But, and I must reiterate the BUT…how many more hilarious stories could we have had if Kinky Boots would have been with us longer than a month? We are only left to wonder.

Yes, Kinky Boots was never a part of our office family. He sure was one hilarious guy, though. Through it all, proving his heterosexuality every step of the way, until his hermaphrodite girlfriend named Corey came in to visit…

An epic tale...Kinky Boots Strikes!

...will he strike again?

Let me take you back in time, a time when there was a temp in the office. She was cute and efficient, so naturally, Kinky Boots wanted to harass the young innocent. After cornering her in the lunch room, he decided to first, bring up his favorite topic, which happens to be dating-women-that-are-far-younger-than-he-is-i.e.-twenty-years-younger!! As I walk in to the middle of their conversation, I am confused as to why Kinky Boots was making such snarky comments, so I inquire the topic of blab session. While I was being blown away by the surprise of the topic of choice, I decided to add my two cents. "Well, from my personal experience, it just never worked. I think that sometimes it has a lot to do with where you are in life, you know? It seems like sometimes, the older you get, the less age matters."

Wait for the reply here....it's classic Kinky Boots all the way...

"I think you're right. If I was twenty-four and dating a four year old, that would be a little strange, now wouldn't it?"

My prompt response: "That's just gross."

....or would it be kinky? I'll let HR decide...

A quick addition...

One quick addition to the staff of my "fictional office"...
Kinky Boots (KB): Kinky Boots is the creepy HR guy. Only God knows why he has even lasted a week in the Human Resources field considering his sexual harassment habits. Not to mention the Sherriff visiting him at the office from time to time...also, I feel like I must mention that he is a flaming homosexual who talks about his "bitch" ex-wife and his girlfirend-that-is-twenty-years-younger-than-him-that-must-be-a-hermaphrodite. He mentions these two lovely ladies about every thirty seconds of every conversation he has with anyone.

I'll try to get more stories about this guy posted because damn...they're funny.

The beginning...

Hello Friends!

For those of you that don't know my guilty pleasures of the past, blogging has been one of those and I've felt the itch of the online puke-whats-in-your-head type of communication that has been so enjoyable for me during other times, so here goes.

I love the television show "The Office". I love it so much, I've decided to write my own version. Some of the characters are based from experience, usually mine, unless I hear an unbeatable story. I always ask before committing perjury, honest.

The beginning is definitely devoted to introductions:

There's me, of course. I work for a non-profit. I will refer to myself as, um.....me, or I or whatever else I deem applicable. It should pan out just fine as so far, I have determined I am not schizophrenic (and other psychiatric evaluations I have had in my lifetime also come to this same conclusion).

DD (Aka: Double D): This has nothing to do with her breast size, although I think it's funny to refer to the CEO as DD. She's a buttoned-up democrat, and the spawn of Satan. She gives me nasty looks whenever I see her. Actually, she gives nasty looks to everyone that she comes across. It's her job as the spawn of Satan. She does very well as a buttoned-up democrat, and that's a difficult thing to do. Also, I am often told to dress like DD. If I had a paycheck the size of hers, I would be more than happy to spend it at Nordstrom on shoes and fancy suits. But since I only earn a measly $32,000 annually compared to her $100,000, I digress.

The Renegade: Another woman I have to work with. She actually refers to herself as "The Renegade" in meetings on occasion, so I am compelled to use this term for this Lexus/Audi driving, diarrhea mouthed moron that is in charge of blabbing to rich people. She doesn't even kiss any ass so she's pretty much useless in a non-profit setting. I feel that she should spend her time dancing to Madonna and making sure her trust is in order, but what the fuck do I know? I haven't been around here for even a year.

Anxiety Alice: This is the person that I have the love/hate relationship with. Sometimes she's a total snob, sometimes she is my best friend. All I know is, she takes all the credit. I'll just refer to her as Alice since I'm lazy and would never type that much over and over, especially for her.

Pregnant Paradise (PP): She's been really nice to me, and I'm surprised because at first, she seemed like a super-duper-mormon. Go figure.

Molly Mormon (MM): She lives just like all typical mormons, where they're good, but they're not nice. I'll get to her when I have a good hour to rant. I think she's a first class bitch, but I would most certainly never deny her shoe collection if anyone offered. I have been denying myself of the appropriate amount of shoes lately, and I'm feeling a little crazy because of it.

Oh, I like her, shes nice! (Nice): One of my co-workers that is always nice. She's a walking oxy-moron because shes mormon. Go figure. No matter how hard I try, there's never anything negative to say about her. (I'm biased against mormons.)

I..........like bikes!!!!!! (Biker): Is my direct supervisor. He's almost as forgetful as my brother-in-law, which is pretty bad. I would still like to think he means well, so for the most part, I don't have anything funny to say about him.

Prodigy: She's my direct supervisor's boss. She shops with DD. Even though I don't have any reasonable excuse to be wary, I still am. She and DD have the same shoes. I'm not a part of the club since I don't make enough goddamn money, so I feel left out. Wait, I could not eat for a week and buy the lovely shoes. But I love food too much. Moving on.....

Friend: I refer to her as friend because that's what we call each other." Hi, Friend!" Is what we always say. I trust her. I like to laugh with her. She's great.

Princess: I refer to her as princess since she is one, but I mean it in the nicest way possible. We roll our eyes together well and gossip about celebrities often. Frequently, she brightens my day with one word, "Babe."

Texas: A Texas lady all the way. She’s sweet, sassy, and great to be around.

Lady: The token gay guy in our office. He’s a crazy driver, always gets lost, and always wears his collar up. In reference to meeting important people, he believes it is in his best interest to say, “Haaaaay!” (think flaming gay here) and run his index finger down your arm. And yes, he’s a total bitch.

Beers!: The event planner. She’s fun, always has the scoop on what’s going on, but she’s also tricky. The scoop may be on you. Oh, and she loves cheap beer.

Ninja: The computer guy that is totally like the cool dudes in college you hung out with (and when you went to college in the 90's, like I did, guys, especially guys that were your friends were called 'dudes.' So...I've just dated myself...it could be much worse.