Our offices were recently moved one floor down. The woman at the next cubicle TALKS BABY TALK. She has screen-savers of puppies and babies and kitties. She has plastic Smurfs and other cutesy-ootsey tchotchkas on her desk.
I swear, one more day of this and I will have my hunchback assistant pour boiling oil over the top of the partition on her.
. . . Anyone in YOUR office who seriously needs to be bitch-slapped?
We’ve got the “What’s going on?” girl. I can’t fix any fucking computer issue without this nosey bitch walking up and saying “Isn’t it working?” “What’s wrong with it?” “It worked OK this morning”, aud nauseum. The other day I was working on her officemate’s computer and stupid bitch says “Is your computer broken?”
Finally, I lose it. I told her to mind her own fucking business already! She always says it in a tone that reads “Oh, the computer is broken AGAIN???” I don’t think I need that shit from a filing clerk or anyone else.
This bitch apparently does this day in and day out to her officemate- “What are you faxing? Who’s that for?”, etc. I swear, one day she’s going to have a fax machine up her ass and a very happy officemate!
Zette
There’s a woman in our office that talks in baby talk too. Not all this gah gah goo goo crap, but it’s annoying nonetheless.
She’s the receptionist and a bunch of us help out whenever she needs a break during the day to go to the bathroom or something. This woman must have a bladder the size of a peanut. She goes at least once an hour. I’m called up twice a day to relieve her (so to speak) and I know that the others are as well. The annoying part comes when she calls me up on the phone.
After she finds out if I’m there, she’ll ask in this little baby voice (still surprisingly loud) “can you help me out? I gotta go potty!”
I cringe at this. I’ve been tempted to ask her if she needs help changing her diaper. She also sings off key show tunes when someone’s name reminds her of it. If I have to hear “oh dannnnnnnnnnny booooy” one more time from anyone, let alone her, I’m slicing that person in two with a dull letter opener.
We had one real superbimbo. She left, in order to live her dream life of being barefoot, pregnant and letting a man make all the decisions for her (including whether she should go out or not — mind you I’m actually not sure how much of this is coming from him, and how much from her).
She isn’t pregnant yet, but she and her fiancé (moved in together after 2 weeks, decided to get married after 6 weeks, decided to have a baby I don’t know when) are trying - taking her temperature every day, the whole shebang. Thing is, if she does get preggers soon, she’ll be very very big, heavy and tired on her wedding day. Still, it’s her choice.
Oh well. At least the soft toys and the stupid pastel covered romance novels are gone. At least the sound of girly giggling no longer rings around the office.
I hope things turn out OK for her. The way things are, life is going to give her one almighty bitchslap one of these days.
I got’s one!
In my space I am king of all I survey. It marketing marketing marketing and it’s my show. Everyone works for me.
Except her. She’s the publishers assistant and is in with my staff for logistical reasons.
She’s a fangirl (as I am a fanboy) and that’s not the difficult part. But that makes her feel ‘connected’ with me, and through me, the rest of my staff.
She’s into alternative medicine, ReiKei (I know I’m spelling that wrong but it’s not like I’m going to ask her and get myself lectured on it)(hell, she used reikei on my fish once!), holistic medicine, etc.
And she’s constantly giving advice. Ask for it or not, if you’ve got a sickness, sprain or what-have-you, she’s there. Spouting off on the latest crackpot theories.
I had an ear infection (I get them all the time) and mentioned that I was taking anti-biotics. She chimes in with her perception that they’re worthless unless applied topically. Well, excuse me for not shoving this damn pill in my ear.
And now she’s taken to bringing in various pills she gets from God knows where and pushing them on people she thinks ‘don’t look good’.
I mean, what else can I do except build a general air of contempt and make sure, when the office moves this year, marketing is elsewhere.
Gotta get those claims to the new office space in EARLY.
The really sad thing about these women is that somewhere along the line this behavior was reinforced–that’s why they are like this. Somone praised them for being this way, for being too squemish to kill a spider, for asking for help on every little damn thing, for being so maternal that big-eyed stuffed animals make them happy, for squeealing when thier happy, for remaining a perfect little girl. Those people have alot to answer for.
We have a baby-talking receptionist in our office, too. The woman next to me is named Liz and the receptionist calls her “Wizzy-bee.” She knows better than to mess with me. I just look at her like I can’t understand what language she’s speaking. She’s also the type of woman who brings her kids into the office and expects us all to socialize with them. I’m busy, I’m getting paid to work, not get updates on your kid’s soccer team.
There’s another woman in my office who’s equally annoying. She’s one of those people who can’t get up and talk to you. She’s constantly yelling from the next room over, “Come here!” Or else she’ll start talking to me while she’s sitting at her desk (she’s in the office next to mine…separate rooms, but our doors are right next to each other). I ignore her unless she walks over to me and speaks to me. I don’t come when someone commands me to unless they’re my boss or they’re injured.
Man, my co-workers must think I’m one cranky bitch.
Wassa matter? Is poor ittle Evie-pooh having a bad day? Someone needs her blankie and a nap.
Bet your fuckin’ ass Evie-pooh needs a goddam blankie and a nap . . .
Would it help if I bought one of your books?
Well, it might help if you bought one of my books, and then beat the woman at the next desk to death with it . . .
The receptionist here doesn’t use baby talk, but she does stuff that’s equally annoying.
In early February, a company wide e-mail went out, announcing the great valentine exchange. We were to purchase valentine’s cards for each and every cow-orker in the office, write a personal note to them, and drop them in the special mailboxes that would be set up for the occasion. Now, I am hardly homophobic, far from it. But the idea of writing cute little bunny cards to my male superiors? Fuck that. Come to find out, not one person participated. Not a single one.
Then just a few weeks ago, she setup a baby picture contest. Fine, that’s marginally better than cute wittle bunnywabbit cards. I even brought a picture in. But then came time to vote for who you thought was whom. This whiney bitch was going from desk to desk, taking people’s pens or mice out of their hands, turning off their computers, and reminding them of their “priorities.” Sorry, I’m working under a deadline. Take your stoopid wittle baby crap elsewhere.
There is a guy in our office I call “The Topper”. This is because every time someone tells a story or anecdote, he has a similar experience that is just a little bit better.
You hold a patent? He holds 3. You found $20 in the parking lot? He found $50 there last week. You got 1250 on your SATs? He got 1275. You chopped off a finger in the shop? He chopped of 2 plus a toe about a month ago. You have a headache? He has a migraine. You won a Grammy? He won 2 Oscars plus a Tony.
And it is not just once in a while. He has to top every single personal factoid told by every single person.
You think that’s bad, I have two people like that in my office!
I have an office mate who takes f-o-r-e-v-e-r to tell the most pointless story. He once began a story like this, “Did you see 60 minutes last night?” at 12:00 lunch. by 1:45, he still hadn’t gotten to the point. He speaks very slowly, pauses way too long and interrupts himself with tangential information.
“Last night my son and I went to this fancy place for dinner. He likes places like that and we always go out for his birthday; he’s 25 now. Once we went to this real nice place in Baltimore, near where the old big green building was, you know the one, past the inner harbor. It was a warehouse of some sort - I don’t recall. But the restaurant was nice, it was a seafood place with lobster, crabs, shrimp, whatever you could want. It was nice. I don’t think it’s there anymore. Anyway, we went out last night to this different place…”
So, what kinda work is cow-orking? Sounds agricultural, yet you say you do it in an office… Does it pay well? Good benefits? 
Evie-pooh probably needs a bottle, too. Mudslides are VERY soothing.
I have a co-worker who everyone has learned NOT to be cornered by! He will talk and talk and talk and talk until your brain is ready to chew your body off at the neck in an attempt to escape. He will not let you say anything, and he will not stop talking! The only way to escape is (literally and no joke) to be rude, turn your back on him, and exit the room…
As I dislike being rude to people this is distressing to me!
This guy is most definitely in need of a good bitch-slap!
Gee, my old office was full of grumpy-wumps just like you! I sent a nice little heart to everybody in the office last Valentine’s day, and did I hear any thank-yous? Not a one!
'course, maybe I shouldn’t have gotten it from rotten.com…
–sublight.
At my office, everyone is free to use the paging system. You can’t go two minutes without hearing a page. Some of the higher-ups will page people without calling their extension first, just in case they aren’t at their desks. Because their time is too valuable to spend it waiting for someone to pick up the phone, don’t you know.
But the person I’m thinking about right now is the absolute worst. She YELLS, and at the same time talks really slowly, like whoever she’s paging is an idiot or 6 years old. All day long, I get treated to
“JOE SMITH PLEASE CALL EXTENSION 1125.
JOE
SMITH
PLEASE CALL EXTENSION
1
1
2
5.”
On particularly bad days, I fantasize about strangling her with the telephone cord. Ain’t gonna happen, though…
Eve,
Can I be your hunchback assistant? I don’t really have a hunchback, but I do have a slight curvature of the spine. I’m sure my poor posture will help satsify the rest of that requirement. I can talk with a slight lisp if desired and I’ve got insane muttering and gleeful cackling down pat. I’ve done various goon work as a project manager and I think my lack of compassion as a server administrator speaks for itself. If you still have any doubt about my evil nature you should know that when I was in the tech writing department I did a lot of editing work.
I don’t have any experience in pouring boiling hot oil over cubicle walls, but by golly I want to learn!
-Blackclaw