This one is absolutely priceless.
This is just what I think of when I see mine. I try not to share these around with anyone at work since it could negatively affect me:
Grumpy : Grumpy is not a manager but has been there forever and thinks she is. Never smiles. Is huge and looks like she could bench press a heavyweight champ.
Dumpy: Grumpy’s best friend. Dumpy is what her name implies…just kind of dumpy.
The Three Stooges: These three guys who are inseperable and talk to noone else but eachother. In perfect diverse personality form, one’s a pot head, one’s a thug, one’s a frat boy.
Lincoln: Don’t ask me why, but this one guy just makes me think of Abraham Lincoln whenever I see him.
Uncle Henry: Your typical old Kansas farmer guy.
Ponytail/Sunglasses/Vampire: First I thought of him as Ponytail, because he has one. Then, because he started this bizarre habit of wearing his highly-mirrored sunglasses constantly, in the rain, in the dark, indoors, I started calling him Sunglasses. Or sometimes, Vampire. Now, because he knows the sight of him in the sunglasses makes me salivate, he makes sure he’s never seen by me without them.
That Man Stealin’ Ho: That one’s pretty self explanatory.
I wonder what they call me.
The Yogurt Man, a.k.a. Mr. Halitosis, a.k.a. The Ephedrine Addict. Ate yogurt exclusively, drank ephedrine tea (and had the brittle personality and temper to go with it) and never cleaned his mouth.
Pigpen (didn’t bathe… consistently)
Mr. Aneurysm (I kept waiting for him to have one. Hand grenades are less volatile than this a@@hole.)
Miss Glurge, a.k.a. Schizoid Mary (although I didn’t know if she was actually Catholic or not)
BigMouth, a.k.a. Full of Himself (talked very loudly into phone all day)
Ms. Ratched (after the “Nurse Ratched” character from "One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest)
Mr. Hole-y Pants, a.k.a. Crotchety Old Semi-Senile Bastard
Miss Priss, a.k.a. Miss Face Time (she would spend hours at work on personal phone calls, then make a show of not leaving at 5:00, like she was really devoted to her job.)
Sourpuss Tom (at least he was consistently unpleasant and brusque with virtually everyone)
The Old Crone/The Old Hag, a.k.a. Crazy Old Cat Lady. Related to cats but not to people.
The Republican, a.k.a. The Tantrum, a.k.a. The Complete Headcase (big G.O.P. fundraiser; would yell and throw things around his office)
The Nice Nebbish
The Nervous Nebbish
PsychoLawyerBitch
The “They Might Be Giants” Guy
Hercules: the guy looks like Kevin Sorbo.
Aftershave Boy. Wears far too much aftershave than should be allowed in an office environment.
Parson Brown/Grape Juice: a manager I once had who had the bad habit of wandering into actual work areas on Saturday night to tell us about Jesus.
He was born-again, you see, and quite the zealot, and simply could not stand the idea that we were all going to hell. And, so, while we actually did our jobs, he stood around (sometimes following us around) and bugged us all nutty by yammering about the living Christ. Arguing with him was pointless. Discussing with him was pointless. AGREEING with him was pointless. He was determined that when Jesus showed up, he was going to have his own little army to lead into the Promised Land. Someone hung the name “Parson Brown” on him, and it stuck. Some people even called him that to his face. “Hey, Parson Brown, can you perform marriages? Hey, dude, there’s a swimming pool. Take a hike across it, will you?”
One night, someone tried to argue the point of “alcohol” with him, by pointing out the line in Scripture about “wine that maketh glad the heart of man,” and the fact that Jesus once whipped up enough wine for a whole wedding party. Parson Brown pointed out that it was a simple mistranslation – whenever the Bible says “wine,” it actually MEANS “grape juice.”
Being kind of sick of him at that point, I proceeded to stop working and tear his theory apart, starting with the fact that grapes don’t grow in the desert, which is what Galilee was at the time, and how if Jesus was going to drink grape juice, he was going to have to have it imported from Lebanon, at the closest, and perhaps all the way from Rome, where they grow lots of grapes, and when you’re shipping grape juice in jugs in the hot sun on camelback, what are you going to have six months later when it finally arrives? On MY planet, we call it WINE! Either that or vinegar! Or are you saying that when Jesus picked it up, he did a miracle and dropped the alcohol content?
I then proceeded to yammer about how travelers generally drank wine or beer rather than the local water, alcohol kills the bugs that cause dysentery, and Jesus spent his entire ministry traveling, and he’d have been NUTS to drink the local water everywhere, unless he’s doing Kaopectate Miracles, and yadda yadda yadda… and Parson Brown looked at me VERY funny.
I’d actually shaken his faith.
He retreated to his office and stayed there the rest of the night, except when actual orders needed to be dispensed. The Saturday Night sermons ceased after that, and he never again began a religious debate in my presence.
After that, his nickname was “Grape Juice.” Mine was “His Satanic Majesty.” Frankly, I kinda thought mine was cooler.
Sergeant Rock: Coworker I had who’d been in Desert Storm. Admittedly, he was a motor pool mechanic in Kuwait, and had not actually done much of anything, but he would tell you about it endlessly; I think it was, in fact, the only time he’d ever done anything in his life aside from watch TV or go to work. Seemed to regard all aspects of Desert Storm as utterly fascinating, whether they actually were or not. Would relate endless anecdotes of total pointless minutiae.
Mumbles - I believe she has marbles in her mouth, as I’ve never understood a single solitary thing she has to say. I smile, nod, and keep on walking.
Crazy Clown - The guy that has that nervous little laugh that he adds to the end of every statement. “I just got off the phone with my wife…all of our children died in a school bus fire.” <giggle giggle giggle>
Commander McBragg - You name it - he’s done it, seen it, eaten it, killed it, or fucked it. He once tried to convince me that he played guitar in Steely Dan and that his father was responsible for Nixon’s trip to China.
Spooky Bill - Bill could walk up behind you and you would never hear him coming. He was also very pale, very quiet, and very mystrious. We used to say that he was actually the ghost of a employee that had died on the job and his soul was now trapped at the office. We once asked him if he knew anybody that could do an excorcism, but didn’t tell him why.
The Wanderer - A wonderfully nice woman, who could never get to the point. She’d start out coming into your office to ask a question and before you knew it you were back in her Sunday school class, having taken a slight detour through the Mt. Saint Helen’s eruption and the coronation of Queen Victoria.
Conan - A co-worker who was also a competitive body builder. He had a Ph.D. in marine ecology and was brilliant, but he could also lift locomotives. AKA “Waddles” because of the way he had to walk due to his enormous legs.
Mr. Kimball - He was the County Extension Agent, so naturally he was “Mr. Kimball.” I also call anyone that immediately contradicts themselves “Mr. Kimball.” “Say, that’s a really nice suit. Well, it isn’t actually a really nice suit - more like a pretty good suit that looks nice on you. Except for the cut, which doesn’t really look to good on you at all.”
Lumpy Gravy - I believe this man had a hole in his chin, because whatever he ate ended up on his neck tie (which was about 3 inches too short). Hence, the “Gravy” portion of the nickname. He also looked like what we all imagined Lumpy Rutherford would look like when he got to be about 50 years old.
CF - Shorthand for “Corrosive Fog.” He’s a close talker with terrible breath. I think his breath actually etched lines into my glassed one time.
Una Calebra - Eek! - More of phrase than an actual nickname. I don’t know if I spelled it right, but it is supposed to be the Spanish form of “A snake! Eek!” The guy in question wore his pants very, very tight, and his penis (which was clearly visible) was very, very large.
Since one of my co-workers is already called “The Pit Bull”, I am campaigning for the nickname ““The Border Collie”, as I am highly intelligent and good at herding people.
At my former job, I had a couple.
The chief accountant was The White Spectre of Death, because he also looked to be on death’s door. He always had huge bags under his eyes, no muscle tone at all, and dead grey hair slicked back.
Our service manage liked to call himself Sweet Daddy, “puttin’ out fires, workin’ that magic!” We’d call him that too, but only to mock him, which he never got.
At my current job, I have The Goth Chick in my department, because she’s a goth chick and proud of it. I guess I need to come up with a better name, but she’s cool.
There’s one lady I used to call Water Buffalo because she’s old, fat and abrasive. She always wore skin-tight blouses with stripes running around her bloated body, making her look even fatter. She and another lady were located in an office where I had to use their printer temporarily, and she got pissed at me for coming through the door that was closer to her desk. Honk, snort, pubuhpuhbuhpuh.
Another time she was waiting on something to print out that was coming from the top paper tray instead of the second paper tray, and I came up to get a printout and she bitched at me for sending stuff to the top tray. It was all the same paper. She just wasn’t used to the top tray printing paper. Snort, honk, puhbuhpuhbuhpuh. She finally left the company.