Diaries of the Professor

An Open Letter to My Officemates

I often wonder what people did to really get up the craw of their co-workers in older times. Did they go and handle each other's slide rules with sticky fingers, or blow smoke into cracked open office doors? Maybe they would scratch the mimeograph roller putting creases in your copies. Regardless, I bet it was annoying.

This letter serves as notice to my coworkers that henceforth, any peer, manager, underling or otherwise semi-upright human being that breaks any of the following rules in my desk area is going to get hit. It might be a slap on the wrist, or a smack across the face, but it's coming.

So, the rules:

1. Do not touch my monitor with your fingers.
   Just don't. I have to sit here in my Picasso-designed office chair and stare at this cheap LCD all day to do my job. Having the remnants of your greasy hair or yesterday's dim sum on my monitor makes it hard to see the detail I need to do my job. Imagine I were to come to your car window and wipe a smudge of Vaseline over the center of your vision...with my ass. Yeah, it's like that.
   
   Now, I know that you need to move your finger along when you read something, and I've noticed your lips moving too, but for the love of everything good and holy, can't you use the end of a pen or just hover your finger along? Is your depth perception not working? Can't you wear a glove? Do I look like I own stock in Windex? Next time you see fit to smudge my screen, I'm going to take that blue crap and pour it in latte, jackass.
   
   


2. Do not burp or pass gas in my office.
   Hey guess what? I really can't stand the smell of your digestion. I'm sure you're proud you have the time to spend 90 minutes at lunch hangin' at that gyro joint, but I swear if you belch in my office one more time I am going to brain you with a travel mug.
   
   Your gases, whether produced via mouth or ass, are not welcome in my area. If you feel the need to release the hounds, step into the hallway, go back to your own office, or stick your cannon into a vent. Your stench could melt the varnish off a coffee table. I think you need to reassess your fiber intake. Perhaps inhaling an entire box of bulgar flour isn't the best way to start your day.
   
   


3. Do not email me funny pictures you found on the Internet.
   Look, I've been online since the early 90s and during this time, I've seen just about everything I want to see on the web. Please do not forward me the picture of the dog with human eyes, or the kids all sitting around drinking. I saw them the first time, back in 1994. And they weren't funny then. They just took longer to load.
   
   Please consider jokes, chain mail, inspirational stories about a nameless person with no legs and a Buick-sized tumor, and anything else that came to you with the initials "FWD:" as falling under this ban. I just don't want it.
   
   Of course, the video of the monkey smelling his own finger is always welcome.
   
   
   
4. Do not impart your political views on me while I'm typing
   I voted for someone. I read the news. Assume these things about me and we'll be just fine. But under no circumstances are you to a) tell me I'm wrong b) ask me why I support ______ or c) try and diminish my viewpoints by offering up your own propaganda. If you don't comply, I will punch you in the genitals.
   
   Twice.
   
   
   
5. Do not tell me about why I need to see your favorite TV show.
   You know I watch a lot of TV. Too much, actually. So, for the sake of office civility, assume that I've either seen the show in question, or do not care to discuss it any longer. Truth be told, I do not care about the fact that you see yourself as a spiritual cast member of "The Facts of Life." Except for the fact that you look like Natalie and smell like a pile of Tootie.
   
   Plus, all I can see right now is your damn finger prints on my monitor all way.
   
   


6. Do not talk to me while I am eating lunch at my desk.
   This one is really for the managers. When you come to my cube and see me eating the latest in sub-$3 frozen cuisine, please do not make the assumption that I will be willing to allow my food to go cold while you go over the latest workplan. I'm eating my lunch, and while yes -- I am at my desk -- I'm on my lunch break. Just consider me to be out of the office at one of those restaurants that you don't pay me enough to visit more than once a pay cycle.
   
   Next time you come in and chat until my food is cold I'm going to take my leftovers and stick them in your office next to the books you never read (like the labor laws, or those instructions that came with the deodorant) Then I'll smear my Marie Callender's all over your shiny new monitor. All because you didn't follow the rules.
   
   Asshat.