- The head security guard at our front desk is an older gentleman who prides himself on learning the names of each and every employee at Corporate Behemoth. He says it’s a mind game that keeps him fresh. When I walk through the turnstiles to get on the elevator, he greets me with “Good morning, Cha Cha!”
Except that sometimes he loses his touch.
Lately, he’s been greeting me enthusiastically with “Good morning, Carlotta!”
Considering that some of the IT guys are still calling me Gladys, this is cause for concern.
- I have a coworker whom I like very much. He’s friendly, always up for answering random questions, and he reminds me of my dad.
He reminds me of my dad, except that he greets my chest, not my face. I’m sure he would be mortified if he realized the extent of his blatant boobwatching, and I like him, and so I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. But if I didn’t like him? Dude, my face is UP HERE.
- The worst thing possible has happened.
Those of you who have worked in an office – any office – know what I’m talking about.
My cubemate with the candy dish has moved jobs and therefore moved desks. There is no candy. No chocolate. No SweetTarts. Nothing. And right as all the good Halloween candy is coming out, too. I am bewildered and frightened, and have a very low blood sugar level.
- Last week, I was in a meeting where a coworker said, “We’ve established that ‘a lot’ is ‘quite a bit.’”
And everyone in the room nodded their heads in agreement.
This is how I spend the precious days of my one and only life.
But it’s tempered with comments like this one, from one of my Indian cohorts: “With him, I am on the open war, to be very frankly.”
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