Ways to Irritate the Ever-Loving Shit Out of Me at Work
When I e-mail you a very specific question requiring that your answer be couched in very specific terms, do not e-mail me back with an estimate of “100-125.” Is that per month? Per year? Per event? Give me one solid number and some fucking context to put it in. Is that so difficult?
When I ask for access to a database that I need to do my job, and when I continually ask for nearly three months, and then when I finally get someone to install the database application on my computer, only to find that the one person who is the administrator of the database and can give me access has gone on vacation for two weeks, and then when that person comes back from vacation and mocks me for not remembering a password he made up on the spot two months ago for the database that wasn’t even on my computer until two weeks ago, and when I then finally log on with the new password five minutes later only to discover that I can get into the database but I can’t access any data fields (!!!!) – after all this, I say, do not expect me to be all sweetness and light. Expect me to spit in your coffee, my friend.
Long overdue: when they called it Casual Friday, they meant “business casual.” They did not mean dressing as if (a) you are going out to the club; (b) you’ll be sitting around drinking beer and watching the game; or (c) you’re on your way to the mall. Tank tops? NO. Dingy T-shirts? NO. Anything that bares your midriff? NO.
As a side note, let us discuss appropriate work undergarments. I do not need to see anyone’s n!pples at work. If you are wearing a tight shirt, for the love of all that is holy, wear a lined bra. They are no more expensive than any other bra and keep all your shit covered. And for those of you that might imagine that this remark is directed at slim, nubile young women, think again. Not that I think they should be given a pass, but where I work, they are not (so far) guilty of this. Think 50-ish large-boned woman resting her bosoms on her desk while you are having a meeting. It needs to stop.
Whew! Glad I got that off my chest (so to speak).