Monday, May 22, 2006

Punch your co-worker for me

wank wank wank wank wank.

That's the short summary of the shit the guy on the other side of my cubicle talks all day. All fucking day. I've worked opposite him for months now, and I still have no idea what the fuck he does except stare intently at his monitor, get extremely fucking agitated with what appears to be nothing in particular, and talk total shite to any poor bastard whose job involves having to talk to this dick.

People bring him his printing, all the time. This is because he clogs up the printer, printing report after report, and then never bothers to go and pick it up. I can see why though - I mean, the printer is a whole ten meters away from his cubicle, after all. When people bring me my printing, I usually say thank you, and feel a little embarrassed, because really, I should have picked it up a couple of hours ago. Not this guy though. He grunts, and then dismisses the minion with a wave of his hand. Because he's so fucking fantastical, that nothing is allowed to interrupt his immense intelligence doing its thing and saving the universe. Well, I'm sure that's how he feels about it, anyhow.

But nothing - absolutely nothing, can top this guys conversational skills;

Coworker: "Ah hi. Do you have a minute?"
Knob end: *grunt*
Coworker: "I jut need to speak to you about this report..."
Knob end: *grunt, wave*
Coworker: pulls up a chair "I just need to ask you some questions about this data"
Knob end: "What? What about it?"
Coworker: "Well - and I'm sure you've done this, because you're very thorough and you always do a good job, but I just needed to check
Knob end: "Yes, yes, yes"
Coworker: "So when you've come to these results here, you used both current and future data in the analysis, didn't you? I mean, I'm sure you did - I just need to check"
Knob end: "Well yes. But no, I didn't. I used future data.
Coworker: "Oh - just the future data? Ah, okay - because I'm interested to know if the two sets of data had separate outcomes"
Knob end: "I don't think you understand this institution."
Coworker: "Oh, no - no, no, no - you've done the right thing, the report is fine - could you just maybe run that data and let me know the results?"
Knob end: "Yes, I'll run it and send it to you. But you don't understand this institution. What you need to get your head around, is that we're extremely unique in our data sources. What we do here is extremely specialist. No other institution does it like we do. That's really the first thing you need to understand. I mean, ordinary processes don't really work for us - that whole report there? I did that with my head. My brain. That doesn't need to be done in other institutions.
Coworker: "So - um, can you calculate those figures for me?"
Knob end: "Yes, I'll do that now."

That was a honest to god, fucking real interchange he had with someone this morning. Fucking freak. Maybe it was too early for his brain. But really, he actually talks shit like this all day, every fucking day.

In fact, all of the people in our neighbouring cubicle are as boring as bat shit. We're fucking boring ourselves, but at least when we do talk to each other, we manage to find something slightly more interesting than that one brick in the garage that's causing quite a few problems. These people live on that strange plane that I generally like to think doesn't exist. They are the epitome of suburbia. Go to uni, get some shitty job, act like you're fucking 40 when you just turned 25. Be sensible, mature. Buy a holden. Buy a commodore. Try to lure a partner by buying a house. Don't worry, the thousands of necessary renovations are a sign of your committment. The three hour commute is a sign of your loan deposit. So. What colour are painting youyour kitchen in your renovated piece of shit 3 yards from hell? Napkin White?! Jesus?! That's a bit bright, don't you think? I'm painting mine Hog Bristle with Pure Zeal borders.

For christs sake, won't someone buy these people some drugs? A hooker or two? Maybe even a fast fucking car might do the trick. Or an overseas holiday... somewhere other than Bali. But still, I'll bet their parents are very proud of them. Except for young Jane over there, who has a dolphin tattooed on her ankle. Oh-ho-ho! Still, she's matured up now, and just bought a corolla.

I'll bet these are the same idiots you hear on the train, on the way home, when you're tired and grumpy and irritable and just want to read quietly in a corner. But you can't. Because is having the most boring conversation in the world, right in your ear. It's so boring you can't believe it. You cannot pull yourself away. You are amazed. They are now discussing how wild last week was, when they had a beer with Friday lunch. But at least it's better than the last thirty minutes of 'what are you doing this weekend', 'oh, I'm going to bunnings, this is what I'm looking for...' You pray for sleep, but you know you won't get it. One of them will interrupt you when their phone rings, and they have an equally boring discussion on the phone with a family member. The person they were originally talking to will either look out the window and pretend they can't hear the discussion, or smile and nod and grimace accordingly in response to the conversation, pretending they are a part of it. Either way, you should punch them both in the face.

Can you imagine the boring fucking stories they're going to tell their children/grandchildren/cats in the future? God, it's painful just thinking about it. 'One day, I got a job. Then I bought a house. Then I had you. The end.' I'll bet this is why people become religious extremists - they're just trying to make up for a lifetime of total fucking boredom. A jihad on your picket fence! A crusade on your flowerbeds! And speaking of religous extremists & western boredom, here's the scariest ever combination of the two, filmed for your leisure. Jesus Camp.

And just so you know, the paint colours I mentioned up there somewhere... they're real. I'll bet it's just so these people can pretend their lives are more interesting and zesty than they really are. My product name tells me I'm interesting and daring! Bam! Take that, society!

P.S. I'm scared. I bought some seeds yesterday, and I'm planning to do some gardening. If I start talking about painting fences or some other similar shit, then you're to immediately drag me to the pub, grab two shotglasses and buy a bottle of tequila. And some lemons. Thankyou.

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