The Death of Enthusiasm

I sit across from a lady at work who is kind of strange. I mean, she says weird things to me all the time. I don't really mind this, but sometimes I just don't know how to respond to her.

Today, apropos of completely nothing, she turned to me and said:

"This cubicle is really plain and boring! I think I'll spice it up a little! How about I put up some swastikas on one side and some 666's on the other? That would get people talking around here!"

Me:

"....."

Her:

"You know?"

Me:

"Uh, yeah I guess it would."

Seriously, what is she talking about? Who would even think of saying that? I think maybe she just has no filter on her crazy inner monologue and it creeps me out.

If I said everything that came to my mind it would sound something like this:

Me:

"I should probably stop picking this thing on my arm. What is this? A scab? Man, I think I have cancer! I knew it! I have a family history of it and everything! Should I tell someone? Should I go home early today? Wait a second....Oh right, it's a riesen stuck in my arm hair. Mmmmmmm. Riesen."

And then everyone around me would be like:

"....."

LOL

Labels: work

I know that a lot of things are the worst, right? Like, going to the dentist is the worst, or having to shoot your dog after he gets rabies is also the worst. But seriously, salesmen are the worst.

Granted, there are probably some salesmen out there that are not so much the worst, but generally they indeed are just the worst kind of person.

This week at work I found out that the "sub-office" I work in with ten other people is being taken over by the sales department and made into an office/lounge for two of the main sales guys. Sure, I'm a realist--I know that office politics dictate that things like this will happen, but these marketing guys make me wish I could go back in time to punch them in the face when they were little kids (it would be more traumatic that way) and then go even farther back in time and punch their mothers in the face before they were born (just out of spite).

You know these guys: always dressed in gym clothes with sweat bands in inexplicable places (really guy, do you need one on your ankle?), always wearing their North Carolina Tarheels ball caps backwards while looking up You Tube clips of last night's ball game, always talking about how sore their lats are from yesterday's workout...

They're so arrogant, but really they don't do anything but answer the phone and lie to old people. Hey good job man, you just tricked an 85-year-old lady into buying a warranty she'll never use and told her that the delivery guys will bring it into her house even though you know they won't. Screw her! Just because her doctor told her she needed to exercise more because of her hypertension doesn't mean you shouldn't employ some of those "closing tactics" you learned last summer lying to old people in Atlanta for APX! Your job is really something to be proud of at the end of the day, you know. You're making a difference!

I guess in the end it proves that people don't really change from the high school versions of themselves. These salesmen guys were scamming good grades out of their teachers and talking about fantasy football while I was drawing cartoons of my teachers getting pooped on by birds. Now, those guys get paid to be the best liars they can be (while sitting around talking about fantasy football), and I draw pictures of birds pooping on my college professors.

Moral of my story: If you are a salesman, don't lie to people because then nobody will respect you, not even your fellow salesmen, and late at night when your wife and children have gone to sleep you will feel a slithering sense of existential dread creeping over you like a terrible leaden blanket, and you will begin to think that underneath all those layers of fake handshakes, expensive colognes, and white-strip enhanced smiles--you have no idea who you've become.

Actual moral: I really don't want to move all my stuff to a new desk.

Labels: Chase the misanthrope, work

7. It sure is hot/cold in here!

6. Is Obama really a Muslim?

5. What were those crazy contestants on "America's Got Talent" thinking?

4. The unwillingness of ex-husbands to pay child support and the flawed nature of men in general.

3. The respective advantages of different models of insulin pumps.

2. The lack of love in their marriages and why it's the husband's fault.

1. That Tina over in sales is a total hussy.

Labels: work

My position at work requires me to walk around talk with various people in the office in order to give them paperwork and what-have-you. Here is a rough approximation of a conversation I had this morning (note: I have edited some of the words in order to maintain a PG rating).

ME: Hey, can you talk to the customer and get it back to me later? (I hand her a paper)

WOMAN (on the phone with someone): NO! I DON'T WANT TO WAIT FOR YOU TO FIGURE YOUR **** OUT! WHY CAN'T YOU JUST GET TAYLOR READY AND TAKE HIM TO GET HIS ***DAMN HAIR CUT???

ME: (I make a sympathetic face and wave my hand like I'm about to leave)

WOMAN: SERIOUSLY!! WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM? (Waves her hand towards herself as if to beckon me to stay until she is done with the phone call)

ME: (I make the "no really, it's OK." Face and start to back away)

WOMAN: LISTEN, I CAN'T TALK ABOUT THIS RIGHT NOW! I'M TRYING TO WORK YOU STUPID PIECE OF ****!!! (Covers the end of the receiver with her hand and smiles at me) OK, I'll get this back to you today. Thanks! (Said in a warm friendly voice)

ME: All right, thanks. (I turn and start walking away)

WOMAN (Back on the Phone): JUST DO IT! WHY ARE YOU OVERREACTING LIKE THIS???!!?!?!? (Slams the phone down and takes a deep breath)

Labels: work

In an effort to more fully immerse blog readers into the world of tdoe (The Death of Enthusiasm), I have taken some photos of my day. I know some people have already done this on their blogs. Mine is sure to be better than theirs.



This my car, or "Deborah" as she is known around here. She is the exact color of the nail polish of a woman in her late forties who could reasonably be named Deborah. Sometimes girls are all like, "Is that a Camry? I heard those are way fast." And then I'm like, "Yeah, it is. Wanna come for a ride?" And then they go with me for a ride.



After I get up I usually go to school. Usually in this building. It smells like the inside of a grandma's purse.



Here is the inside of the building. I found out that people don't like it when you take photographs of them for no apparent reason, and then give them no explanation when they ask.


I then go to work in this charming building. It looks boring from the outside, but inside it's cool. It has cubicles!


I was given this jolly Mexican snowman as a Christmas present. He guards my computer for me at night. I don't think that the Mexican cleaning lady would ever want to steal stuff from a cubicle inhabited by her own jolly, water-based compatriot.


Speaking of stuff in my desk, here is my desk drawer. I bet you can name at least two things that don't belong in an adult's work drawer.


This is my weird Native-American themed mousepad. My boss gave it to me one day in a really casual manner. She was all like, "Here's the weird mouse pad you requested," when in reality I had no idea why she was giving it to me. I already had a perfectly fine mousepad. What's the deal with that?


This is a picture of a dog I have tacked on my cubicle wall. Sometimes people (logically) assume that he (or she) is my dog and then they ask me about him (or her). I like this picture. It makes me like I really do have a doggy friend, or that I will have one someday.


DOGGY....


DOG...................................


This is a scantron with the words "hold me" penciled in. It's actually a piece of art that has been displayed in a real art gallery, but that doesn't mean that my coworkers think I'm any less strange for having it.

Labels: humor, school, work