Skrip - tyur' - i - ent: adj. Possessing the violent desire to write.


#117 In which our hero talks about random workplace junk.

Workplace thoughts:


There is nothing more comforting than a cold toilet seat. Not at home, of course -- that just sucks.

Speaking of which, there is great toilet seat inequality in my home. See... if The Scientist times it right, she can take a seat after me and the entire seat is nice and warm, being that my butt covers the entire seat But, if I go after her, then there's a wide strip on the back (due to her less sizeable derriere) that's still cold. Hardly seems fair, does it?

Anyway, it always freaks me out to sit on a warm seat at work. Because this means that someone was just there, and I'm potentially sharing any butt-germs they might have left. Shudder. Worse yet is when you SEE someone leaving the stall. At my current workplace everyone on the same floor shares a small bathroom in the hall, and there's only one stall. Sometimes I've even got there and the water in the bowl is still swirling around a bit. Yuck.


I've noticed an odd social phenomenon... certainly not limited to the workplace, but this is where I've heard it most often.

You have a great story to tell about your weekend, or something you read, or whatever... so you tell a co-worker about it. Later, still jazzed by this great story, you want to tell another co-worker... but the first person you told is there, or maybe they come over in the middle of your tale. Without exception, the person telling the story will say, "Like I was telling Bob..." before going into the story. It's like a code to say, "Hey, Bob, I know you've already heard this story, but bear with me a second while I tell it again."

I'm fascinated with this phenomenon. I'm not sure why. Everyone does it, myself included. I've tried to figure out why... it's almost like we're afraid that as soon as we start telling the story again, the person who has already heard it will shout, "Jesus Christ! Are you telling that story again? You just told me, what? Ten minutes ago! Can't you think of anything original to say? My god, you're a colossal bore!"

Check it out... I bet you say it, too.


I don't know how people wasted time at work before the Internet was invented.


I'm annoyed if a workplace doesn't provide free coffee to their employees. It just seems like something they should do. I'm not a big coffee drinker myself, but I generally drink one cup every morning. Now, in four of the five agencies at which I've worked since moving to Cleveland, there has been free coffee. As you can imagine, I now reckon it my god-given right to have free caffeine every morning.

My current employer, you may wish to note, does not provide free coffee. Now, I think if I requested it, he would comply. Matter of fact, there was a Mr. Coffee in the back room when I first got here... complete with a layer of mold floating on some very, very old coffee. Maybe you can see why I haven't pushed on the coffee issue.

The real reason, though, is that I've made it a morning ritual of stopping at the Arabica next door on my way in and getting a medium house to go.

Now, you may be aware of my desire to form relationships with commodity vendors. I don't know why this is, exactly, but it is a strong want I have. I'd love nothing more than to be on first name basis with my butcher. I imagine it would go something like this:
ME: Mornin' Sam.
SAM THE BUTCHER: Morning' Craig! What can I getcha?
ME: I'm throwing a party tonight for eight. What would you recommend?
STB: How 'bout a nice rib roast?
ME: Sounds delicious! Give me that 11-pounder in the front of the case there.
STB: Oh, you don't want that one! Let me get you something nice from the back...
I envy European shoppers who can go to a butcher, green grocer and fishmonger all on the same street.

So anyway, you can appreciate my joy when the not-unattractive blond behind the counter in the mornings started recognizing my order before I said anything. She'd see me come in and say, "Medium coffee?" Ah, bliss! There were even a few occasions when I'd be stuck behind some fool pondering the order board and coffee girl and I would share a glance that said, "Eh, amateurs! You'd think they'd never been in a coffeehouse before!" And then she'd say the magic words, "Medium coffee?" to which I'd reply, my voice full of knowing disdain for the slow-orderer, "Yes, please."

But, this worker either quit or is working nights now, because I haven't seen her in months. Now I'm stuck with these dullards that not only ASK me what I want, but have the nerve to add, "Room for cream?" Cream? I don't take cream with my coffee! My god, it's like you don't know me at all!

So yeah, it's nice to provide free coffee to your employees. See what drama develops without it?


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