I'm locked in a very small room with a very strange guy.

The BBQ Pit
1

Here I am on the second day of a new job wasting time on the boards. It’s not my fault. I can’t focus. I’m in a very small room with this . . . idiot.

Things dunderhead does:

-Sings. Today I have been treated to his “versions” of Complicated by Avril, First Cut is the Deepest (not sure if it’s the Stewart or Crow version) and War Pigs.

-Laughs. I shit you not. He listens to some comedy channel on the internet in his headphones and just giggles away. Since he’s behind me I imagine he’s sitting in the corner of the room with a straight-jacket on, staring at the back of my head wide-eyed, giggling away like a little girl.

-Drums. Not mindless finger tapping on the desk. Full on, 7 piece drum kit. I think I’ve been feeling it coming in the air tonight about 10 times today.

-Whistles and hums. Indiscriminate tunes.

-Talks in old man voice constantly. You know the one Dana Carvey does? That one. [omv]Well, I guess I better be moseying on to the meeting now![/omv]

-Beat box. * Ah doon doon CHISH! Ah doon doon CHISH! boombadaboombada CHISH!*

-Mumble. Sometime incorporated with OMV.

Pronounces his heterosexuality. Dude, I get it. You like chicks. Me too. (sigh) For the last time it’s maximonline.com. You’re welcome. I think he’s over compensating for being the “artsy” one in the group of techies.

I will remember to bring my headphones tomorrow.

2

Wow. That brings back memories of a guy I used to work with, although I don’t recall him doing a full drum kit solo.

Your guy’s name wouldn’t be Henry, would it?

3

If it’s not Henry, is it Ed?

4

Ah, yes! Like my fucking weirdo cow-orker.

I mentioned her in a previous thread. She’s the one who occasionally wears a wedding dress work (not currenlty though, because it would be gauche to wear white after Labor Day).

Sometimes she sings Chinese songs. But usually it’s just a long tuneless hum of one single tone: “Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…” kinda like a dial-tone.

She eats incessantly. I mean it. She is always eating something. (Strangley, although she has a pot belly, she is not tremendously overweight for someone who does nothing but eat all day long.) That’s probably why she hums more than she sings – hard to sing with her mouth full, but humming is still possible.

She has the table manners of a barnyard animal – she even hunches over her bowl with her face almost in it, a mere centimeter from the boiled fish she heats up in the office microwave (to everyone’s olfactory disgust).

So between the lip smacking, slurping and hmmmmmmmmmmmmm…

I wear earplugs at work.

5

Is there any way you could supply a picture of her at the office in the formalwear? I remember this from the first time you posted, and I think all of our lives would be enriched if we could just share in that oh-so-tacky moment. I’d be willing to pay. Really.

We have a worrier here at work. The axe will be falling sometime in late spring, and she wants to know every. fucking. detail. about the process management is going through, exactly how long she has left, and myriad other annoying questions. Uh, we’re most likely going to be either 1) out of work; or 2) picked up by the outsourcer. That’s all we know. Management will not share any more information, lest we all abandon ship, and you need to take a pill, my sweet.

6

You know, he could thet the building on fire.

7

ohhh that sucks…
My work is going through a move, and waiting for my move downstairs on Thursday, I have new neighbors…
Nice people but this one lady is just the loudest sigher I have ever heard… She just sighs, moans, hums all day long… It’s the most annoying thing I ever heard. And she talks to herself a LOT too… it worries me a bit!!
Thank God, it’s over on Thursday…

8

Shhh! Don’t tell Bruce_Daddy that he’s all alone in the room–that there never was anyone else! :stuck_out_tongue:

9

Sounds like Andy. My officemate went on vacation for a couple of weeks, and they let some contractor named Andy use her desk while she was gone, instead of the perfectly serviceable one in the empty conference room. Andy whistled. He actually sat at his desk and whistled like one of the Seven Dwarves. It simply amazed me that anyone could be that inconsiderate.

10

It’s been so long since she’s worn it, I’ve kind of wondered if perhaps someone has talked to her about it. Ot a friend has iscreetly pointed out her fashion faux pas. The first few times, people at work looked surprised and asked with much confusion: “Oh!.. Er, are you going to a wedding after work?” At least as dozen people asked, but she never seemed to catch on.

So I’m wondering if someone in her church group asked more directly “why on earth are you wearing a wedding dress around town?”

…Or maybe it will just re-appear in the summer.

I’ll keep you posted.

11

In college, I worked with a woman named Maisie. Perfectly nice woman except for her smell. She wore gallons of Jean Nate, used some sort of nasty-cheap peach potpourri stuff on her clothes and reeked of Lawries seasoning salt. It came out of her pores and made my eyes water on bad days. In the winter when the heat baked the smell out of her, I’d volunteer to do deliveries just to get away.

You can’t wear headphones to keep out that sort of funk. Well, you could try, but…

12

…but you’d have to cram them all the way up your nose.

13

Great, now my boss knows I’m not working, since insurance very rarely makes you bark laughter like a hyena. Thanks Amanita!

14

If Dante set a large object on fire, would it be called Dante’s Inferno?

15

Years ago I worked at a high-end bicycle shop, and it was chuck full of idiots. There was a particularly strange guy whom we’ll call Mr. C. First off this guy was a complete fucking idiot. No common sense, no intelligence, no nothing. In fact the only thing he seemed to have going for him, was that he seemed to be in fantastic shape. He looked like a personal trainer or something. Every day he ate homemade cheese sandwiches and drank a gallon or so of water, and never hesitated to tell the rest of us that we would all die from eating a whopper. What really annoyed us all about this guy was that he was an exaggerator. You know the type of person I’m talking about, totally full of shit. So full of shit that you couldn’t even let it slide, you would have to call him on every single thing he said. He was so full of shit in fact that you would question his sanity. He once claimed he could ride his bike from Coney Island Brooklyn to upper eastside Manhattan in 20 minutes. In fact he did it everyday! The most frustrating thing was you would call him, and he would never admit it, he would smugly brush you aside only infuriating you further.

Here’s where the story actually begins.

One day he was spinning one of his outlandish tales, when a co-worker of mine who was a serious bike rider called him on some bullshit. He challenged Mr C. to a bike race around the Central Park loop, which IIRC is about 4 and a half miles. The bet was a full paycheck, and even though we didn’t make much, we we’re paid bi-weekly, so it came to about $500. The shop had tons of regulars, and word spread quickly about the race, which would be the following week. The shit talking in the shop reached an all time high that week, with everyone salivating over the possibility of Mr. C. getting showed up once and for all. So guess what happens? Yep, Mr. C. pulled out, and offered some smug excuse that it wouldn’t be fair, because he would destroy the other guy, and the other guy needs to train more, etc. Well I couldn’t take it anymore, I hated this guy with all my guts, (I had challenged him to many after-work fisticuffs over the past months, only for him to smugly decline), so instead of the other guy, I volunteered to race him. Now keep in mind, that between all the people in the store, Mr. C. and I had the most bad blood, and of course everyone knew that. Mr. C. couldn’t resist, and accepted my challenge. The new bet was he would have to eat a whopper or I would have to give him a paycheck, and yes I loathed him so much I accepted those terms. The race was set for the next day, and since I didn’t have a bike, I would use a rental one. During this time, I was out partying a bit too much, and was smoking over a pack of newports (those menthol ones, ugh) a day. On top of that I hadn’t exercised in years, so I know I was in for a serious shock.

Race day.

Not much shit talking went on that day, just 2 people focusing on the task ahead. I had been doing a lot of thinking, and as a result, a lot of smoking, which I knew, was a bad thing. The afternoon came, and the manager decided to close the shop early, so we got out of there with plenty of sunlight. A huge entourage of about 25 or so people headed up to Central Park, and we went to the starting point. On the way up there, I thought puffing on a few newports would help break Mr. C’s spirit. At the starting line, we agreed that the manager would be the judge, and a bunch of people would roll along with us to make sure everything was kosher.

3…2…1…go!

Mr. C. takes off, while I get reacquainted with riding a bike. The rental bike was some lady model that was a few sizes to small, but now was not the time to complain. We had started at the 86th street entrance, so we had some smooth sailing for about 20 blocks, but then a pretty vicious uphill ahead. (least it’s vicious if you are in the shape I was). I could see Mr. C. ahead of me, and he must have been screwing around, because he didn’t seem to be putting forth his best effort. We get to the climb, and to my surprise I’m right on him. I was already breathing hard, but my white-hot hatred was fueling me just fine. After a few Ben-Hur bumps from him, I was able to get around and pull ahead. We started down the back straight of the park, and I poured it on, everything I had. Finally I reach the bottom loop, and start up the front straight towards home. I turn around and no Mr. C. in sight, I had completely toasted him! I decided to stop short of the finish line by a few hundred feet, and enjoy a nice smooth refreshing newport to celebrate my imminent victory. Lo and behold, I see Mr. C. huffing and puffing up the hill, so I hopped back on my bike, and crossed the line tour de France style flashing victory signs and holding a newport with my lips.

Mr C. chalked it up to something or another, it changed everyday, and he never did eat that whopper either. He did however, quit a few months later, and was never seen again.

Probably pissing someone else off somewhere.

16

I used to work with a woman who smelled very bad…b.o. - trouble was everyone would come to me to complain…no one would say anything to her so, one day , just before we left the office, I snuck up beside her and whispered that her blouse must have a problem because it really smelled and that was the last of it. I just kept going out to the elevators after I said it because I’m sort of a blurter (some people say “to the point”) and really don’t intend to offend anyone however I think she appreciated it. :confused:

17

That is such a beautiful image, it brought a tear to my eye. :smiley:

18

I used to work with a guy that probably thought I was really weepy. Can’t blame him, seeing as how every time we sat down at a terminal together to learn some software in traing class I’d get all teary eyed. But you see, it wasn’t that I was emotionally unstable, it’s that he had this shitbreath that could give you a tan. He start some funkwinded story about how he used to work for the series Rhoda and how he was the writer that put her sister into the series and I’d be sitting next to him just bawling. I cried so much that first day it was like I was looking through a kid’s kaleidoscope. I’d say something to him and he’d blow a gust into his palm, sniff it and go on to the next story.

Finally he hit on this knockout gal in our group and the sexual harassmint did what no mere mortal mint could. I think he must have had a paralized cat that he had to lick it’s butt for.

19

One of the best days of my life.

Until my legs started trembling on the subway ride home. :smiley:

20

Great story, World Eater. What bike shop? Sid’s? I’m amazed you didn’t end up sitting on a curb with your head between your knees barfing. You really must have hated the guy.