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Dear Clueless Gum Popper @ the Office…

27 Sep

Dear Clueless Gum Popper @the Office:

Must you torture our ears with the pop, pop, popping sound of chewing gum bumping against your teeth as you twist and turn the glob in such a fashion that it makes noises outside of your own personal space?

You’re killing us, your coworkers.

The very sound of that snap, crackle, popping noise nearly eight hours a day has made some of us imagine purely evil thoughts against you.  We almost can’t help ourselves.  We’ve been through this before.

Why, Bill, he even tried to remove the gum from your desk when we sent you on that wild goose chase for the McCafferty files on the 2nd floor. Remember? When you came back to the department six times and Laura sent you back again and again? 

Ahem.  There are no McCafferty files.

As long as you keep abusing us with noise pollution we will continue plotting against you and your gum stash.

There you sit day in and day out popping gum resembling a firecracker that can be heard all the way down the  hallway. I once was in the stairwell and heard it as I opened the door. Do you know how far the stairwell is from your desk?

I’ve fantasized about you having extensive dental work so that you could not chew anything, especially gum. Only quiet things would enter your mouth. Like yogurt.

Once, when you were off from work for two days straight, on sick leave, our entire department breathed a huge sigh of relief. It was two days of no-gum-popping bliss.

No one missed you.

Not even a little bit.

You are clueless in a way that befuddles us all. Do you ever imagine what it’s like to hear the grating noise of a popping sound for hours each day?And even with the repeated hints we’ve given you, you still stuff that gum into your pie hole and go to town gnawing on it as if it’s your very first piece of gum ever, as if the sugar in the gum is magic elixir that you must extract every single bit of.

Please, for the love of sanity, switch to hard candy.

We can’t take it anymore.

Aching in CubicleVille,

Your Co-workers

Dear Cafeteria Lady

30 Apr

Dear Cafeteria Lady,

First of all I would like to thank you for performing your thankless job of preparing food and then presenting it to us ornery office workers as we buzz through the line during lunch asking various asinine questions such as, “Is that CORN?” when clearly it’s corn.  Or when one of us inevitably spills gravy all over the OTHER foods when we clearly or not so clearly aimed the ladle at our pile of mashed potatoes. I also would like to apologize on behalf of all of the coworkers who text while going through the food line, who fail to notice that they’re holding up the line or that their yakking is so loud that every single person within hearing distance is glaring at their very moving mouth shooting firey darts their way.

The thing that really makes such people annoying is that they don’t even feel the firey darts.

I know. I know us office workers are testy for someone who works so hard to prepare delectable grub for us to devour and then have the AUDACITY to leave our sloppy trays and food messes right there on the cafeteria tables for you to clean up.

The nerve of us.

We’re horrible, yes. But I have an itty-bitty complaint about you, Dear Cafeteria Lady.

Um, could you…Could you…Is it possible when you’re doling food onto my plate that you keep your, um, THUMB out of my food? I mean, I’m sure you’re required by law to wash your hands while handling public food and all that but sometimes just the very sight of your thumb embedded in my mashed potatoes gives me the sheer willies. Thank you for understanding.

Signed,

Cubicle Dweller #382

 

Dear…Holiday Helen

3 Apr

Nearly every office in America has one.

That coworker who absolutely EATS holidays.

By “eats” I mean she (99% of the time it’s a female)worships every single holiday. I refer to this ubiquitous character as Holiday Helen. Feel free to insert your own Hilda, Marjorie, Blanche or Christina.

Holiday Helen watches her calendar with feverish salivation so that she can immerse herself into whatever holiday it is.

Even St. Patrick’s Day. She wears green from head to toe. Even her fingernails were painted green.

Oy.

Well, now it’s Easter week and she’s been boiling and dyeing eggs since March 15th.

She has plastic, chocolate, foamy, multicolored egg replicas on her desk. She has a huge easter basket strategically placed so that she can lure any coworker into a conversation about the current holiday. She knows holiday stats, too, and rambles them off to whomever gets stuck standing at her desk after having made the mistake of accepting a “free” chocolate egg from her.

She wears sweaters with easter bunny faces on them. She spilled glitter on your desk when she was explaining her most recent holiday craft project with her kids.

Now you have glitter on your eyelids that won’t wash away without puncturing your skin. Or visiting an optometrist.

She even makes bunny noises and knits sweaters for actual rabbits she has yet to meet.

Dear Holiday Helen:

STOP IT.

Dear…Person Who Farted on the Elevator

10 Feb

Dear Person Who Farted on the Elevator:

I know what it’s like to not be able to hold in your air. I do. I mean, I’ve been there. I’ve eaten beans or onions or cabbage or lettuce, even, and then…OHMYGOD.WHAT’S.GOING.ON.WITH.MY.REAR.END?!!! So I get it. I do. But if you must let loose The Big One or a series of Big Ones in a small enclosed space I just wish you could’ve/would’ve held it in until you exited the small closed space. Now that would have been kind, thoughtful and respectful of others’ nose hairs.

Truthfully, the air in the elevator resembled old broccoli spears mixed with halitosis mixed with decomposition mixed with sewage topped with garlic. Sprinkle on some toe jam and that would adequately describe the very cloud that you left in the elevator.

I mean, I feel like airing out my blouse.

I mean, I think I threw up in my mouth a tiny bit.

For your sake I left some Beano on your desk. Please use it immediately.  

Thanking you in advance for never committing this horrid workplace crime again.

Signed,

Coworker #125

Dear…Microwave

20 Jan

Dear Workplace Microwave:

I know you arrived here in that nice box all clean and shiny and scentless. I know you came here to blast our miscellaneous food and snacks– Lean Cuisines, Mama Mia Pizza, Weird Bob’s forever “tuna”, Same Sweater Sandy’s odd casseroles that predictably contain huge mushrooms, various rancid fish ensembles, old coffee, plain water and popcorn–with your low levels of radiation in a jiffy so that we can eat and drink within mere moments of pushing your buttons.  I know you came to serve us and here we abuse you with our awful carelessness, our hurried schedules, our clueless hygiene, our “My wife always cleans it at home”-ness. 

I would like to apologize for all of the morons who, even though they’re over 34 years old, still do not grasp that styrofoam and certain plastics such as Saran wrap should not be heated AT ALL, let alone for three whole minutes, which to you, dear microwave, is like eternal heat. 

I specifically apologize for the fool that once put aluminum foil inside of you, programmed two minutes and then walked away to gossip about his high-five barbecue grilling skills. I feel so sorry for you when tomato products explode on your forehead and get stuck there for centuries. Or when caramel syrup-like spills become one with your glass rotator plate because no one will dare clean you. At least once a week six people will predictably scorch their popcorn within your walls even though it says right there on the bag DO NOT EXCEED RECOMMENDED POPPING TIME.  Surely you dread the very face of Orville Redenbacher

I do my best to keep you clean not because I’m a clean freak or germ phobe or anything but just as much because the very thought of random coworkers’ gook hoovering over my precious lunch gives me the willies.  I have an idea. I will circulate an interoffice memo–anonymously, of course–to everyone under the roof. I’ll especially make sure I put one face-up on the most serious offenders’ desks.

Thank you for serving us. We don’t deserve you and your radiation upon our vittles.

 

Signed,

Perturbed in CubicleVille