That’d be the one - thanks, K’sDad!
When shitting in the office bathroom, we appreciate your attempt to mask the smell by spraying some of that scented air freshener; that’s why it’s there. But please limit it to one or two squirts, not a 10-second onslaught while waving it all around the stall. It’s incredibly potent and now the entire office knows to avoid that particular bathroom and that you, just walking out, dumped a massive stinky load.
Trade ya. Our bathrooms feature Lysol spray … which some people USE as air freshener. There’s also one of those constant scent-thingies on each counter. It’s an olfactory onslaught even if someone hasn’t just taken a shit.
Both of these are massive problems where I work! The ladies dine on large quantities of fried stuff for lunch, and come back to produce some horrific byproducts. After producing said byproducts, they spray half the can of the knockoff Country Fresh Glade while sitting in deep contemplation. After many, many minutes of this, they flush the toilet and dispense the remainder of the can immediately outside the stall door.
On other occasions, the restroom smells strongly of vinegar. I don’t want to think about this too much.
Wow, I sure am glad I’ve managed to miss this. Or maybe I haven’t really - one of the byproducts of having had allergies for decades is a very reduced sense of smell… 
Heh heh heh - I mean, that’s terrible! The Assignment From Hell that I’m on now is almost all filing - they’re very, very lucky I’m a consummate professional and wouldn’t do that (but oh, do I think about it!).
I’m listening to my co-worker, who is blessed with an otherwordly, nay, saintly patience, explain to the aforementioned temp how to use Cntrl + F to find a particular doc on a big page full of lists of documents.
“No. I’ve never used Control … F, did you say? Oh, for ‘find.’ Gotcha.”
Oh. My. God. Do you have nude pics of my manager or something? How the holy hell did you land a job - entire job description: updating websites - when you … you … * splutter * * splutter *
: penis-in-mouth gesture :
I’m sitting in the airport on my way home from presenting at an expo, was looking forward to some downtime and half the people who attended the expo are apparently in the airport and want to talk about Medicare now. Dangit, couldn’t you have asked me this when you took a bagful of freebies at my booth? And don’t think I don’t know you came around twice. I don’t know what you’ll do with the 4 bottle openers you took, but apparently there’s some need to stockpile.
One for the kitchen drawer, one for the purse, one for the glove compartment, one for a friend!
Anti-rant: I think I like you now, new consultant. You pushed to get your presentation to me today instead of tomorrow; I don’t even care if there’s any enlightened self-interest going on, since you want to take Friday off, too. You were also very good about detailing your changes, even on a version where I didn’t need to see them. Hopefully we have come to an understanding and you were just having a bad week. Woooooooooo!
Well hey, alright, Guns. Congrats to you on having a competent co-worker. They seem to be in short supply right now.
(One of mine is going on the hCG diet* starting tomorrow. Listening to her “explain” it was somehow both hilarious and deeply worrisome.)
- Oh, just Google it. I had to. Your eyes will roll back into your skull, I promise. Nutshell: 500 calories per day plus daily supplements of some human hormone or other. There’s no talking her out of it, either. Why? Because she went to the salon where our boss gets her hair done and “all the women there were on it.”
And the human hormone is extracted from the urine of pregnant women or horses? I can never keep up with these things.
Human pee. More than you needto know here.
(Horse pee is for Premarin. PREgnant MARe urINe.)
Grandboss, 99.99% of the time:
“Why is it so quiet in this part of the office? Y’all are just tooooooo quiet!”
Grandboss, this morning as soon as she stepped foot in the suite:
“SSSSHHHHHHHH!!!”
Okay, bitch. Whatevah. We were having a mundane conversation, and giggling a little. Considering the topics YOU bring up in the workplace (including, but not limited to: details of her breasfeeding/weaning process, the merits of gay anal sex, whether or not so-and-so co-worker is still a virgin while said co-worker is standing in the same room) and how mutherfucking loudly you have both personal conversations and work-related conference calls booming through the suite, I think we can have our little chit-chat.
It is im-fucking-possible to make this bitch happy. How did I wind up working for my own mother?!?
It’s okay, you just need to have the appropriate comeback handy:
SSSHHHH! We’re plotting our takeover of the company!
It’s okay, we’re talking about that girl you hate.
Note to self: K’sDad knows bitchy women better than I do. (What does that say about me? And about him?)
Also, when the IT note on a new domain is “X company’s ABC domain just went to hell in a flaming handbasket of doom. DOOM!” that’s just not gonna be a good sign. . .
Heh, heh, heh.
Rant of the morning:
Coworker “Betty” asked me last week if any of the presenters for our upcoming conference would like a DVD copy of the presentations at another location’s conference. I told her that I would check with “Laura,” the woman organizing our conference here. (Note that: *I *did the asking myself, instead of telling her, “Talk to Laura, not me.”)
This morning, Laura responds that one of the presenters should get a copy, since he hasn’t presented this material before. I pass this information back to Betty. Betty’s response? “I’m on vacation. Ask ‘Mary’ about the DVDs.”
Really, bitch? You couldn’t, say, forward my email to Mary and CC me? You just had to add the extra fucking step instead of doing it your own damned self? Fuck you.
ETA: Rant #2:
Thank you, whoever entered this contact’s email address wrong into our CRM system. You put a dot instead of an underscore between the names, which fortunately I recognized as being inconsistent with every other fucking email address for this client.
:smack::smack::smack::smack::smack:
"Details are haaaarrr-rrrrrd!"
My current position is sorting out weekly packages for filing from about 300 locations; want to guess how many of them come in with some identifying information missing? You are one of 300 locations - put your Goddamned store number on your Goddamned packages! Hell, some of them aren’t even sealed. Then there’s the ones that come in that are to go straight to filing that have things like accounts payable invoices in them…I want to go on a Canada-wide head-slapping spree, but that would probably be frowned on.
That is going to be SO ugly.
That reminds me of my office - half our researchers are on really screwed-up all-liquid diets. Most of them also take these little black appetite suppressants, which make them just screamingly fun to be around. If I were ingesting that much caffeine and no solid food, I’d be a raging bitch, too. The thing is, none of them but one are actually overweight, and the one who’s overweight is on a calorie-restricted diet supervised by an actual physician. She looks fantastic, while the women on the weird diets look about 10 years older than they actually are.