Filed under: Work Bitching
In my first post I referred to the fact that as the receptionist at my workplace, I am uniquely situated in a physical sense. Let me elaborate. I work at the headquarters of our company, in a 5 story building, of which we occupy 4 of the floors. The second floor is empty and there is also a small café (very small in size, selection and quality) which is run by a completely separate company, on the first floor. When you enter the building, immediately to your left is a large Welcome sign with instructions to check in with the receptionist (that would be me, and boy is it ever my pleasure to assist you) and two double doors, propped open, which lead into our lobby and to my desk.
What this means for me is that I am the person who has to deal with the ignorant wanderers. Obviously visitors come into the building and they’re clueless, but they are expected to be clueless so I try to be cordial to them and forgive their stupidity. The stupidity I can’t forgive is that on the part of our own employees, who work in this facility day in and day out, five days a week, some two hundred and seventy odd days a year. We have been in this building now for a year and a half, and every day some employee who has been here since we moved into the place stops by looking for a room he can’t find, usually a conference room that he has a meeting in once a week. This was forgivable when we first moved in, of course, and I would say it was even semi-forgivable for the first say, six months, of our occupation here. It is no longer forgivable.
I honestly wonder sometimes how these people find their own homes every night, but when it comes down to it, they don’t remember things like the layout of the first floor because they choose not to remember, because they know there is a pathetic, underpaid wombat (that would be me again) whose job it is to come cheerfully to their aid whenever they encounter something basic that they choose not to handle by themselves.And while I’m on the subject of basic things that employees choose not to do for themselves, let me share a little incident that occurred last week. I was sitting at my desk playing with one of my co-worker voodoo dolls, when an employee we’ll call Bill Lumbergh approached my desk, held out his hand, and said, “This is for you.” The item in his hand was so small that it was completely covered by his fist so I couldn’t see what it was until after he passed it into my palm.
Now, trust me, I have been at this job long enough to know that he wasn’t giving me some kind of thoughtful gift or off-the-books cash bonus. I figured it was an earring, because let me tell you, women at my office seem to find their jewelry going astray quite frequently, and when people find such cheap crap they give it to me to hold at the desk in case someone comes to claim it, which rarely happens. But when I opened my palm, I did not find an earring. I found a piece of trash. You read that right: a piece of trash. So I said to Bill, “What is this?” And he said, “Trash I found on the ground,” and then he proceeded to walk away. I replied, “I guess you were unable to locate a trash can yourself,” but he was already gone.
Do I live in a fucking dumpster? Do I look like Oscar the Grouch? I don’t know when I became the company’s official human garbage receptacle but I really wish someone had sent me the memo. I truly cannot even fathom the level of arrogance and sloth that results in a person handing trash to someone else instead of putting it in one of the roughly four hundred trash cans around the building on his own, but the picture above pretty much sums up the scene of revenge I’m planning for him. If I can’t find a dog to assist, I’ll be happy to do it myself.
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