Sorry, coworkers.

When I was brainwashed we decided to move to the ‘burbs, I shifted my already on-going search for a new job out to the ‘burbs too.

I don’t commute.  I don’t understand the idea of commuting.  I spend enough time on the actual working part of the day, I am not going to extend that day by hours sitting in my car surrounded by a bunch of other suckers doing the same damn thing.

I found a job that I was uniquely qualified for (no, no one pays me to make sarcastic-but-obvious observations.  Where ever I work, that is something I offer free-of-charge,) so fast I took it as a sign.

I had been looking to move out of my position for over a year with no luck looking in the city – then I switch my search outward and BOOM, awesome job right into my lap?  It was obviously because I was lining up my thinking with God’s plan or something, right?

Except, as it turns out, I can totally work from home with this job. Could do it ANYWHERE.  Shot that little theory to hell PDQ, eh?

The thing is, I split where I work pretty much half-and-half.  Some days I am at home, tucked in my little basement office working away, and some days I like to wear cute clothes and have someone to notice have the interaction that the office provides, so I go in.

Yesterday was a cute clothes office day, and as I finished my lunch and tossed the Tupperware with  remnants of my spaghetti squash and parm up onto one of my paper piles,  I realized something.

It would be the ultimate workplace courtesy if I would go ahead and stay down in my basement.

Awesome outfits aside, I think I am kind of blecky to work near.

-I don’t make extra trips from my cube, so if I finish eating, I chuck the container/silverware/coffee cup/whatever aside and let it sit there until I am getting up for another reason.

-My paper piles spread like a virus.  They are contained in the cube, sure, but I am one of the first cubes you pass as you come in, and it ain’t pretty.  Ask me for a tissue and I will get you one, but I have to go into the piles to retrieve the Kleenex box..

-I love me some mementos.  My cube walls are as busy as a teenaged girl’s locker.  Pictures and cards and bumper stickers and notes mix haphazardly with phone directories and processing info actually needed for work.  A far cry from the grown ups’ everyone else’s carefully placed calendar and tasteful framed family photo sitting to one side of a clean desk.

-Post-its.  I use early and often and EVERYWHERE.

-My dietary habits are occasionally questionable.  They involve a lot of Nacho Cheese and Mountain Dew.  This can’t be easy to watch.

– I am socially clueless in work settings, and not alert before cup of coffee #3 – which means if you walk by and say hi first thing in the morning,  I may stare blankly at my computer until you are WAYYYYY down the line before awkwardly mumbling “goodlo”  ( a cross because “good morning” and “hello” because I was going to say one, but then changed my mind faster than I could change my mouth and said both.)

Basically I am an office disaster.  I am pretty sure I also type mega-loud when I am stressed, and I am a one-person department just now, so I am ALWAYS stressed.

Also there is that sarcastic comment thing.  Hilarious to me, but someone SOMEWHERE might be less impressed.  (Naw, that can’t be true.)


Long story short (never happens,) the nicest thing I could probably do for my coworkers is to get back into my sweatpants and back into my basement.

(But then the poor dog has to deal with my sloppy loud self….  It’s lose/lose, really.)

See you ’round the water cooler.


1 Comment

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One response to “Sorry, coworkers.

  1. Pingback: The M.U.V. | Reluctantly Suburban

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