I realize that I will have to share an office with you until May, and here are a couple of pointers on how this can be a more pleasant experience for both of us:
- Cut down on the fucking cologne. I gag every time I pick up the phone, even if you haven’t been here for two days, because it reeks of your cologne. The new stuff is slightly better than the patchouli, but not by much. It’s especially disgusting when mixed with the stench of your cigarettes. And it spreads. We can all tell where you’ve been in the building beacuse it follows you and it sticks.
- Cut down on the Downy you put in the dryer. I understand that the actors get whiny when their clothes aren’t fabric-softened, but you get to stick stuff in the dryer and leave. When you use twice as much Downy as necessary, I’m stuck here with a headache. We’re in the basement. Ventilation is a myth.
- Get your shit out of my storage areas. That huge fucking make-up box? I will throw it out if it’s in my cupboard in one week. Same goes from the costumes that have been sitting on my storage shelves for two months. Do you think I don’t need that space? Move it or lose it.
- Don’t you ever fucking touch me again.
- When you make appointments, keep them. My job is not to sit here awkwardly making conversation with people who are waiting for you until they give up and leave. Neither is my job to haul over 150 costumes down the stairs because you weren’t here when the dry cleaning was delivered.
- I am not your answering machine. You’re supposed to be here 9-5 on Wednesdays. You were here 1230 to 230 today. I have to tell people to call you on Wednesdays. What do I tell them today?
Okay, are you ready for the big one? Here it comes…
- Stop bringing your skeezy, creepy, moronic boyfriend to work. He creeps me out. Sometimes he helps you with the laundry, but mostly he just sits at my worktable and stares at me. Sometimes he writes on it. I moved some newspaper yesterday and saw that he had written our three names in a nice script handwriting. I almost threw up. Today was the last straw. I came back from lunch, and there was all of his stuff, sitting on my chair. Not my chair at the worktable, the one he usually sits his fat butt in when he feels like staring into space/at me. No, the chair at my desk. What in the hell made him think that this was an okay idea? He mumbled something about being sorry when I moved it, but did he appear to decide to move it himself? No. He just dumped on my chair, waited for me to move it, and mumbled. I find this to be typical behavior on his part.
So if you could keep these things in mind while we share an office until May, I would appreciate it. Unless you get fired before then, which I fully expect.