Choose Your Own Adventure: Lunchtime Microwave Edition

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I’ve spent a lot of time, some would say too much time, writing out the things people do at work that bug me (For proof, please see here, here, here and here). More than a few of these involve the bathroom. Actually, a good chunk of my problems with society in general stem from others’ inability to follow a few, basic and simple Water Closet Protocols as I call them.

Recently, I’ve discovered a new thing that happens at work to complain about. Good news, it has nothing to do with the bathroom! Nope, if the story of a meal ends in the bathroom, then this issue concerns the place where that story begins: the kitchen.

                Lunch. For most of us, it’s the midpoint of the workday. A time when you can either look back and say: “I’ve done some good things here today” or “It’s what time? Sweet Jesus. Well, I’ve still got all afternoon to finish that up. Should be fine.”

                I’m a creature of habit and so most days at work my lunch looks a little something like this: container of plain Greek yogurt with a few assorted berries sprinkled in, an apple and either leftovers or a container of plain chicken and veggies. It’s a boring lunch for a boring gentleman. Just like our forefathers intended when they built this great land of ours.

                That last element of the lunch, the container of either leftovers or chicken, that’s where the trouble resides. See, 19 out of every 20 lunches I eat require whatever is in here to be microwaved for somewhere between a minute and a minute and a half if I’m feeling froggy. It’s not a big deal. The kitchen is directly next to my cube so the walk is short. Plus, the fact that I can see the kitchen allows me to time it to minimize awkward social interaction should I so choose.

                However, twice in the last, let’s say two weeks, the following has occurred. I’ve been hard at work, noticed the time and the rumbling in my tummy and, after a quick glance over at the empty kitchen, have decided: “OK, let’s do this.” I grab my lunch from my lunchbox scurry over to the kitchen, go to place it in the idle microwave and BAM! There’s someone else’s already-nuked lunch sitting in there.

Tasty beverages & soulless pop music: Workplace ear hazards

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The other week we discussed crummy neighbors and my porch light-like ability to attract them like moths.

                I need to clarify something though. It’s not just at my place of residence that these pains in the butt seem to circle me. I’ve also had a pretty impressive history as far as the people who’ve occupied the cubicles around me at work.

                I’ve had two neighbors fired for making up stories rather than actually interviewing people. Another of my former neighbors quit right before she would have been fired for being both horrible at her job and for being a complete enigma the likes of which isn’t often seen outside of Russian hockey players.

                Currently, I’ve got two empty cubes and an aisle around me but it’s not nearly enough.

                To my left is an older lady who is completely and utterly baffled by every form of technology more advanced than a lead pencil. She’s mostly harmless, though I know the IT folks who are walking a rut back and forth to her desk to show her how to use a printer would passionately disagree.  

                My big issue with her is her incessant need to inform everyone about her background working in print journalism. I’ve heard her explain her “just the facts” background enough times that I probably wouldn’t have much trouble penning her life story. If she’d let me use anything that high tech to write it, that is.

                She also has an irritating tick where she uses the phrase “you know” as a verbal period. It’s at the end of every sentence that comes out of her mouth and when you hear it, you know to be ready as it may be your turn to speak.

                But again, mostly harmless.

                Diagonal from me though, is a girl who is anything, anything but harmless.

                She seems like a pleasant enough person. She’s quick with a “Hi!” and a smile whenever you cross paths with her in the halls. She’s usually chipper and approachable.

                But she is also the devil incarnate.

This date in the history of mankind: The birth of Brag-plaining

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I’m weird. No, don’t worry, it’s OK. I’ve made peace with it.

Part of the blame goes to my own unique blend of genes, chromosomes and electrons, all misfiring together in some sort of strange, off-beat symphony.

The rest of the blame? The bigger chunk? Well, that comes from the fact that I’m a person. All people are weird, even if they don’t know it. Especially if they don’t know it.

It’s a subject I’ve covered before and I’m sure I’ll cover again.

Today’s reason why people are weird is something I’ve been noticing quite a bit of recently: People complaining about an issue they have no interest whatsoever in seeing resolved.

Example: “This thing I have to do sucks.”

                 “So, don’t do it. You don’t have to. It’s a volunteer thing. Say you’re sick. No one will care.”

                “No, I can’t do that. Ugh. I just really don’t want to go.”

                “So … don’t?”

                “No I have to. God it’s going to suck.”

What kind of lunacy is this? Any animal in the world that’s ever witnessed one of these kinds of exchanges must just shake its head and ponder how we – people – ever made it to the top of the food chain.

Not so fun times with voice mails

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One of the many perks of my job is that I get to spend a lot of time on the phone, calling people who have no interest in talking to me.

                Wait perk is not the right word. Oh well, it’ll come to me.

                Anyway, when your job involves making cold calls, it usually means you spend most of your time talking to receptionists and voice mails.

                I’ve got no beef with the receptionist crowd. They’re just trying to do their job: keep hooligans like me from bothering their boss, while I do mine: kinda sorta bother their boss.

                The voice mails are another story.

                Obviously the most annoying voice mail is the tried and true: “Hi! (needlessly long pause, just long enough for me to introduce myself before the rest of the message kicks in) You’ve reached so and so who works somewhere and so forth.”

                It’s 2013. It’s unforgivable people in America still kind this gag funny. If we moved past Dane Cook, can’t we leave this one behind, too?

                So that one takes the top spot, but sliding into second is a phenomenon that’s much lesser known, but still pretty initiating.