It's Not Me, It's You

This week I finally succeeded in banishing Anonymous Officemate!  That’s right, I’ve freed myself from the daily rundown of his food diary, his odoriferous tuna fish, and the rest of his incessant banal chatter, mostly relating to food and video games.  Apparently he hasn’t yet made his craziness apparent to senior management, so he’s not banished from the company but he is banished from my office.  His numerous strikes have won him his very own cubicle.  Unfortunately I won myself a new Anonymous Officemate courtesy of the current space shortage at work.  Honestly, I don’t know where they find these people; Anonymous Officemate II is just as insane as Anonymous Officemate.  He’s been in my office for all of one day and has already shared that he thinks he may be a hoarder but he’s trying to make an effort to throw things away.  I’ve also learned that at his last job, he used to work back to back shifts and he’d come back on shift to find crumbs all over his desk.  Crumbs!  Can you believe it?

Nothing beats our very first introduction:

AE: “Nice to meet you, I’m AE, your new officemate.”

AO II: “Nice to meet you too.  Do you know how often they clean this office?”

AE (looking up from my multibillion dollar excel model): “Um, no sorry.”

AO II: “Well, is there a cleaning schedule or something?”

AE: “Honestly, I don’t really know.” [pause to answer phone to discuss other multimillion dollar excel model].

AO II: “Maybe I’ll file a request for someone to come vacuum; I could do that in my last job you know.”

AE: “Sure, go for it.”

Anonymous Officemate II then opened up his briefcase, pulled out an array of cleaning products and proceeded to disinfect the entire office.  I caught him wiping down my phone and keyboard when I came back from the kitchen with my coffee.  Let’s see if he shows up with his own vacuum on Monday.  I think maybe I should swap desks for the cubicle and let my two Anonymous Officemates be nuts together.

Anonymous Officemate Strikes Again

Friday afternoon, my office phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize.  I picked up to hear the all too familiar voice of Anonymous Officemate.

AO:  “Anonymous Expat?  It’s Anonymous Officemate, I was hoping you could do me a favour.”

AE:  “Sure, what do you need?”

AO:  “Well, I locked myself in the stairwell.  I was hoping you could come let me out?”

It seemed that Anonymous Officemate had decided to burn off some calories by doing a few minute jog up and down the stairwell at the office.  While he brought along his cell phone for his impromptu exercise session, he forgot his ID card which he needed to swipe on the door lock to get back into the office.  I briefly contemplated bringing his chair and laptop to the stairwell to make it his new office.  After all, he is way beyond his three strikes and has already been imaginarily banished.  Instead I took the long way to the stairwell.  I may have also stopped for a fresh cup of coffee along the way.  Hey, I let him out and I let him back into the office.  And in reward for my efforts I was treated to the daily rundown of his food diary for the past 24 hours on the walk back to our office.  Wow, I briefly forgot how not fun he is during the few minutes of peace I had while he was locked in the stairwell.  I’m currently accepting applications for new officemates.

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.