Sometimes I find myself wondering what my children will be like when they grow up. Will they end up being essentially the same as they are now, only taller, and with more hair? For the sake of everyone else in the world, especially those who may have to share an office or an apartment with them, I certainly hope not.
Take my daughter, Clementine, for example: if she grows up to treat other people the same way she treats her little brother, Clyde, then I pity her future office-mates.
Just imagine what reading her blog will be like. (In the future, keeping blogs will be mandatory.)
January 29, 2024: You know, sometimes, while on a business trip, when I’m in the middle of a really long and boring plane ride, I like to mix things up a bit by turning to the guy in the seat next to me and saying, in a completely conversational tone, “You suck.”
You’d be surprised at the reaction this gets. Sometimes he starts crying right away (how was I supposed to know that he already had “issues”?), sometimes he says something equally nasty back to me, and sometimes he tries to ignore me. The ignoring is the best, because then I can really put on my devil horns and get to work.
“Nobody here likes you, you know,” I’ll whisper in his ear. “They all feel the same way I do–that life got a tiny bit harder the day you were born. Which, by the way, your birth? It was all one great big giant mistake.”
When the flight attendants come back to see what the problem is, I of course deny everything.
January 30, 2024: Today I played the “lay-off game;” it’s a great way to liven things up at the office. Here’s how you play it: let’s say that you’re sitting in some boring meeting, where they’re discussing yet again how important it is to be on time, and how much it hurts the company’s bottom line when people steal office supplies, blahblahblah. (Neither of which applies to me; after all, I’m on time at least half the week, and as for the sharpies–what, like I’m supposed to go out and buy my own? I don’t think so.) Anyway, to play, all you have to do is write a note saying “You’re going to be the next one laid off,” and then hand it to the guy next to you.
Again, just like in the airplane, he’ll either react by crying, saying something nasty (both of which will get him in trouble), or by trying to ignore you, which just means that the game is on.
Sometimes I get asked why I do these things. Sometimes (a lot of the time, really), the person asking me seems genuinely interested–or at least genuinely vexed. They’ll run their fingers through their hair like they’re trying to pull it out (they should be careful with that–it’s getting a little thin on top already), and ask me in an exasperated tone, “Why? Why do you always have to start something? Why can’t you ever just sit there? To which I’ll give them the classic answer: I dunno.
February 20, 2024: Guess what? I was walking down the hall at work yesterday, following some guy from accounting and saying, “lame-o, lame-o, lame-o” under my breath–every time he turned to look at me I would stop and say, “What?”–you know, just a typical day, when suddenly this guy from personnel pulled me into his office and gave me a promotion. Can you believe it? I forget what my new job title is; it’s like “Vice President in Charge of Terminations”, or something.
Whatever. I have to get to the break room before anybody else; I’m going to lick all of their sandwiches and then tell them about it after they’re finished eating them.