whatshouldwecallme:

Most girls: 

Me:

For those who have ever read this blog before… you know my thoughts on work place vending machines.  They are like my own personal therapy. (see original post) http://neithersensenorsensibility.tumblr.com/post/1163046643/dear-vending-machine

However, as I just began a new job I may have found something even better than a vending machine…

FREE SNACKS AT WORK!!!!  Now, when I am wavering on the boarder between slamming my forehead into my keyboard, and possibly verbally assaulting the coworker who has been the bane of my existence… I can casually and gracefully take a stroll to the office kitchen and peruse the assortment of wonderful tasty treats.  Where I may miss viewing these tasty treats through the alluring glare of the plexiglass wall of the Vending Machine, I am now even more thrilled that they are placed in aesthetically welcoming baskets that seem to scream “relax and enjoy”.

So, my dear free tasty treats, here is to you.  Without you I may have enjoyed the shortest tenure at a job ever and have been told to evacuate the premises.  Without you, I may not have been able to consume the free bag of Wheat Thins. These were no ordinary Wheat Thins, these Wheat Thins provided me with such a satisfying crunch that they released just enough tension to allow me to smile at a highly absurd email chain instead of hitting “reply all”… instantaneously sending my one way ticket to unemployment to the entire company.

So, my sweet darling tasty treats- you have my heartfelt adoration… I’ll be seeing you ;)

Dear Over-Sharer,

You sir are incredibly kind and I know you mean well… but this “over-sharing” has got to stop. Yes, it is my job to sit and explain policy to you, our new employee, and yes it is my job to walk you through benefits, and yes it is my job to attempt to make you feel welcome.  We can share those little anecdotes of frivolous nature here and there, but overall… I really do not want to hear it.  A meeting that should have taken 45 minutes took an hour and a half. I may know more about you now than I know about my own mother.  Shocking, I know.

While sitting back in my chair, eyes slowly glazing over, I learned more about you than I ever truly needed to know. I am all for workplace comraderie, but I draw the line at weight discussion, historical health problems, your mother’s historical health problems, your kitchen rennovation problems and the warm and fuzzy feelings you get when you think of this (your new job).  You sir, are an over-sharer.

When I now walk from the office to the subway I will remember that this is how you plan to lose weight.  When I think about moving apartments I will remember that 20 years ago, when you moved, you had to deal with a horrendous smell - which you described to great lengths and which makes me ill to even think about. When I hear someone mention “Doctor”, I will think of your “Dr. Kelly” who you think so highly of and have to see four times a year for special testing and blood work to keep everything in line (whatever that means). Oh… the list can go on and on.

After our conversation, and after writing about it here, I felt the need to grab a roll of paper towels and go into and empty office.  Why a roll of paper towels you ask?  Because I can us it to hit the desk repeatedly without anyone hearing me or breaking anything. It is like that arcade game “whack-a-mole” where little moles pop up from a hole and you smack them over the head… except I just pictured your head popping up out of the holes and I just refer to is at “anger management”.

Over-sharer, please stop sharing.

Sincerely,

Annoyed beyond belief young professional who is deadly with a roll of paper towels

Dear Mr. Darcy, Prince Charming and Knight in Shining Armor,

What a cruel joke.  Apparently you’re not real, and just as it is ridiculous for men to expect Barbie, Cinderella and Playboy Bunnies; it is equally ridiculous for us women to expect to wait around until you show up.  I was re-reading a wonderful classic novel, Pride and Prejudice, and found myself cynically laughing at scenes that I used to look upon with secret expectation and excitement.  In fact, the thought of having to deal with you in your perfection on a daily basis… well that just inspired nothing but disgust and a strange impulse to throw up.  So, thank you for supplying my youth with images and dreams of men who don’t exist, but strangely I thank you even more for making me recognize the absurdity in expecting these dreams to become a reality.  Once upon a time, in a land far far away, where fairy godmothers exist and simplicity was a virtue, you might have been perfection.  But here and now, I can do without you.  The fairytale is nice, but reality is perfect. 

Thanks for the amusement