With my last job change, I graduated from a cubicle to an office with a door, but I have one office-mate. After a year and a half, I am starting to hate him. I hate his hipster doofus clothes. I hate the shitty industrial metal music he listens to all day (thankfully on headphones, although I can hear most of it because he turns the volume up to 11). I hate smelling his farts every afternoon. I hate his poster. I hate his messy desk. I hate how he does his job. I hate how he bobs around and nods his head to the beat of his punk-ass music. I hate his Aeron chair and the pieces of lumber he uses to raise his desk so his long bony-ass legs can fit underneath. I hate his egotistical anecdotes. I hate how he goes out to lunch for an hour and a half every day. I hate it when he comes back. I hate overhearing his phone calls. I hate how he always wants to prop the door open, which is in violation of the fire code. I hate hearing about his boring “active single” lifestyle, which consists of biking trips, getting wasted, and playing volleyball at the beach. I hate how he thinks you can only get deep dish pizza in Chicago. I hate the picture of his monkey-looking niece. I hate his whiteboard and everything that’s written on it, even the stuff I wrote.
Actually, he’s not a bad guy. This is just an illustration of how familiarity breeds contempt. I shall try to hate him less.