Lady, why is your fat butt in my workspace? Are you here to see me? NO! You’re just standing right behind me in my 3X5 cube and talking to some other f-nugget who is sorting papers in the aisle. GO AWAY! I have a mirror on my desk and it’s full of your gigantic fat backside. Do you not see me sitting here, trying to get some work done? Why can’t you locate another spot in this 20,000+ square foot building we’re in to park your amazingly large, flower printed ass??? Have I mentioned your ridiculously large ass yet? I can’t even back my chair up! GET OUT OF MY CUBE!! I don’t even know you, but apparently you think we’re tight enough that personal space is not a factor. Apparently you didn’t get the hint when my chair bumped into you. Gee, I hope you weren’t offended, asscrack. I hope I didn’t disturb your conversation a minute ago when I got up and had to say, “Excuse me” for you to get out of the way. You moved to the side so I could walk by. I had hoped you would be gone when I came back. Were you?? Hell no! You had to move out of my way so I could squeeze back into my chair. I hope I didn’t put you out or anything. I’m so mad I’m afraid that if I actually try to ask you to leave I’ll say something I shouldn’t and get myself in trouble. You’re lucky I’m a nice guy or I’d tell you what a stupid, inconsiderate bitch I think you are. Go the fuck away or I’ll have to…oh, there you go. Finally. Now I can breathe. Maybe now I can get some work done.
Oh, wait…my ass isn’t fat and I wouldn’t be caught dead in a floral print.
I hear ya, though. I hate it when people congregate and talk loudly right outside my office door! What works for me is picking up my phone and saying to the fictitious person on the other end (loudly, I might add), “I’m sorry I didn’t catch that. Let me close my office door because I can’t hear you over all the chatter.”
That’s just too hilarious for words. Oh, wait, I just used words. Never mind. Anyway, would that hold up in court? “Your honor, her rectum was in my personal space. I could only assume it was in need of a good pinching.”
Heh heh.
Ya poor bastard.
You just got Grabenbaured!
A dude here, bhe last name above, does something similar, except he will come into my cube for an actual reason, I’ll take care of it, and then he just continues to stand there, watching what I’m doing, just plated there like a big bump on a log, just…just…BREATHING all up in my space!
It’s like he doesn’t know when the conversation ended.
News flash, big fella.
If no one’s flappin’ their gums, that’s your cue to
GET THE FUCK OUT!!!
Ugh.
I feel your pain, MachV.
I HATE getting Grabenbauered!!
What is it with these work people? I can be sitting at my computer, busily typing away, my side to my office door. There are one or two people here who will casually stroll in, plop down in an office chair, and start talking. Even if I don’t look at them!
And it’s never about work. It’s about what happened at the bar they went to last night, or how stupid their SO is, or somesuch. Why would I care about any of this?
I’m a friendly guy, but I’m not outgoing. I don’t roam the halls looking for someone to talk with. I like to sit in my office and do my work and check the SDMB when I can. If I want to know how life is with you, I’ll ask. Don’t assume that I will be wowed by the fact that you managed to hit on four awesome girls at the bar last night (although none of them seemed to be that enamored of you, based on what you said). Don’t assume I’m thrilled to hear about the amazing thing your toddler did yesterday. Don’t assume I want to know all about how your stupid husband/wife/dog forgot to take out the trash/get the clothes out of the dryer/poop in the proper place. (For REAL fun, mix and match those options!) If I look like I’m working, odds are I am. Kindly leave me alone.
“Enter office, turn off brain.”
The Grabenbauers of the world seem to follow these instructions explicitly. A few of their behaviours I’ve noticed (in addition to what’s been said here already):
stopping and having a nice long chat in the middle of the hallways, complete with moving to the side and coming back to the middle every time someone squeezes by you, shooting you a dirty look that you’re completely oblivious to
blabbing away on the phone on what is obviously a personal call, while you stand at their desk waiting for an urgent answer on some work-related item (paper in hand, so they know what you’re there for)
dragging meetings out endlessly as they belabour points that no one else cares about, and could easily be addressed in a one-on-one with the person it concerns
a. leave stuff on your desk for you with no note saying what you’re supposed to do with it, and no idea who left it there; and/or
b. leave stuff on your desk that isn’t for you, with no idea where it’s supposed to go or who left it there (with the understanding that if you just chuck it, it’ll turn out to be crucially important)
bug you about work stuff at lunch. Unless the freakin’ building is on fire, it can wait half an hour while I have a stress-free lunch.
if it came from my desk, it comes back to my desk. Don’t make me hunt you down for the stapler you borrowed. It might be a little childish to put your name on all your office supplies, but it really cuts down on the “borrowing”.
if the email is addressed to me, you ARE NOT FREE TO READ IT OVER MY SHOULDER!!! If there’s anything here that pertains to you, you will get a copy. I promise. Otherwise, it’s private and you’re not welcome to read it.
Oh, man. Thank you for saying that. I’ve stopped eating lunch in our breakroom for this very reason. I’ll be sitting there, eating my salad or sandwich or whatever and reading my book, and some dipwhistle stops by and starts talking about some project. Hello? See the food? See the book? I’m at lunch.
Now I hop in my car, drive to a deserted parking lot, and eat my food and read my book in privacy. I’ll probably be killed one day by the Parking Lot Maniac, but at least I’ll have enjoyed some solitude before I died.
