Tuesday, December 12, 2006

2:50 p.m.

Office Gripe 1:

Since I painted myself into the daily indignity of toiling my life away inside the Machine, for the Corporate interest, further injustice has been bestowed upon me. Apparently, in addition to my already tedious functions of lunch ordering, phone answering, paper tray refilling (and occasional soda fridge restocking), FILING has been added to my array of duties. I did not take this job to perform receptionist functions. I am not above these functions, but that’s not what I was hired for. I’m supposed to be “the backup.” And what the fuck is with the soda restocking? The receptionist used to handle all of it, now suddenly we’re sharing? If the wonder-twit, fuck-wit, ghetto superstar receptionist I started this job with could handle it, why can’t the much smarter replacement? The myriad absences could be a possibility. It’s fine to take a day off here and there, but two week-long vacations (to Hawaii, both times) in about six months is a little excessive for someone who started in May. I love her, but I’m just saying. I tolerate (barely) the soda restocking and paper tray refilling because of the bullshit “team player” mentality, but I draw the line at filing. What meeting was held that decided this, and why didn’t I get a vote? Why bleed functions of one position into another? We are at such an adolescent rung on the Corporate ladder, what is the need for that type of “cross-training”? We’re not conducting major astronomical experiments here, we smile, do our work, and make our managers look good. Reception answers phones, routes mail, and files. Basic office duties including FILING. That’s all. I will continue to hide in my blanket of specifications and subcontracts, where it’s safe and warm.

Office Gripe 2:

a) If the whistling last week weren’t enough, my boss is whistling “Whip It,” by Devo. Not nearly as annoying as the American Idol of whistling, but it’s a little disconcerting to hear a popular 80s song in whistle-format. That’s like hearing “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails in a public elevator. “I wanna fuck you like an animal,” interpreted with saxophones and timpani. It’s really more creepy than anything else.

b) Just heard from the conversation-intruding, dumb-question-asking cube neighbor: “Build my fear of what’s out there, cannot breathe the open air.” Lyrics to Sanitarium (Metallica). Do you see what I endure daily? Are all offices like this?

Office Gripe 3:

I officially denounce the retractable phone cord my supervisor continually tries to pawn off on me. I’ve been through two already and I’m over it. I get complaints of static and warbly conversation. The retractable phone cord is apparently not equipped for the likes of me. I declare shennigans once and for all.

Office Gripe 4:

We spend much of our day sorting out mishaps and confusions with our Accounting department in the Corporate office. The two staff that I interact with most frequently are sisters. One is generally intelligent and engaging. (Side note: She got totally bombed at the Holiday party last year, from what I heard, competing only with the drunken skank my coworker brought.) The other sister is equally engaging, but not so much for the thinking and whatnot. We talk almost daily and she’s great. But I’m always tempted to ask: “So did ALL the brains go to your sister? Nothing left for you? All tapped out, are ya?”

Office Gripe 5:

Men. PLEASE wear SOMETHING under your collared shirt. I know it’s a struggle for some of you to wear a collared shirt at all, but please. We don’t need to see raisins through your shirt. That’s what us girls are here for. Stop competing and enjoy the show.

That is all for today. I’ve been too busy working to write blogs. Bollucks.