Three Strikes, You're Out. It's a Sports Metaphor

H and I were flipping through TV channels last night after dinner and came across The Big Bang Theory’s Panty Piñata Polarization episode.  As I am generally entertained by Sheldon’s antics, I wasn’t surprised to find myself laughing hysterically about Sheldon’s three strikes of friendship.  Sheldon gives his friends a strike each time they fail to comply with his strict rules and regulations for comradeship and if one accrues three strikes within one year, one is required to take Sheldon’s class (in person or online) in order to restore one’s friendship with him.

In Panty Piñata Polarization, Penny gets banished by Sheldon after receiving her third strike, her second one of the evening:

• Strike One: Forwarding e-mail humor on March 18^th.

• Strike Two: Touching Sheldon’s food.

• Strike Three: Sitting in Sheldon’s spot on the couch.

While I think that the three strike system may be a bit harsh for use with friends, I feel that it may actually serve a good purpose for use with colleagues.  Wouldn’t it be nice if you could banish colleagues from your vicinity if they accrued three strikes?  If I could banish my officemate after three strikes, I would have sent him packing this morning.

• Strike One: Engaging in a loud, two hour phone conversation with his brother about a new wrestling video game after showing up at the office an hour later than the rest of our group.  You’re 37, grow-up or shut-up, at least while I’m on a conference call and actually working.

• Strike Two: Eating a can of tuna fish in our office.  To those who don’t know me, this may not seem so bad, but the scent of canned tuna fish is my number one olfactory pet peeve.  College dorm mates were forced to empty their tuna fish cans at alternative trash receptacles than the one outside my door and poor H can probably count on one hand the number of times he has consumed tuna fish since meeting me.  On Anonymous Officemate’s first day, while eating my lunch of chicken teriyaki at my desk, I asked if the smell bothered him and said that if he found that or any other future lunch smell offensive, he should tell me and I would endeavour to eat elsewhere.  I also politely informed him that he should feel free to eat whatever he wished in our office, except for tuna fish. 

• Strike Three: Leaving aforementioned not fully finished can of tuna fish in the trashcan in our office overnight, with the door locked and windows closed so the cleaning crew couldn’t empty the garbage.  Let’s just say that was not a pleasant smell to encounter at 8 o’clock this morning, even if I was a fan of chicken of the sea.

Farewell, goodbye, auf wiedersehen, adieu, Anonymous Officemate, I have hereby banished you, imaginarily at least.

I overlooked your incessant weight conscious chatter (which fruits have the lowest calories, your need to purchase new bathroom scales (yes, plural and yes, for one bathroom), how you burn more calories running than swimming, your preference for cheap low carb beer, and your girlfriend’s need to lose weight (told to her over the phone)).  I refrained from giving you a strike for your visible nipples and chest hair due to not wearing an undershirt.  I listened politely during your many hour monologues extolling the top restaurants in WA while you sat and ate your salads and drank your Diet Cokes.  I tried not to compare you to my former officemate with whom I shared enjoyable conversations and numerous high fat deserts, while extolling the theory of regular exercise but not the practice of it.  But now Anonymous Officemate, you’re banished.  Since I can’t actually throw you out of our shared office, I think I’ll bake up a storm this weekend, and enjoy eating my way through an abundance of deserts in our office next week.  Perhaps that will frighten you enough into leaving on your own accord.