The Question

For a long time I've wanted to chronicle the goings on of the office. Honestly, I don't think I can do it. For one, it's hard to capture in writing the actual events and how horrifying they really are. Secondly, it's a bit depressing to relive these said moments. I get plenty of opportunity with my co-workers to blow off steam I don't think I need a secondary outlet.

At first I thought it might be fun to let the public in on our little hell we live in but then the idea just became a bit pathetic. If it's so bad, why are we still there? Good question, and I have an answer. We joke (and are sometimes serious) that we are here for past sins. Like making fun of the size of Harriet's ass. It is huge and getting huger. Levi's is loving her for the 5,000 calorie lunches that require a new purchase of jeans each month.

I don't know. Maybe this isn't the place for it, maybe it is. I'll give it some thought for now and may be back. Maybe I just need to chronicle for posterity maybe I need to not for my own sanity. That is the question.

Cool Shades

Dear Mr. Applicant,

I know you are excited that we are hiring. I know that you want to come in and impress. And what I know most of all, we don't have to hire you.

When you come in wearing your leather jacket and sporting the shades that match the Cadillac Escalade you borrowed from your dad you look like a tool. We are not impressed. Take off the sunglasses. What? are you on drugs and don't want me to see your eyes? Are you too cool to remove your shades in a building with limited light exposure?

We were not overwhelmed with excitement upon your introduction to us as God's gift to metal fabrication. And, before I was able to get a word out of my mouth you ask "how much do you pay?" Easy to answer "to you, Nothing! Get out!" My goodness, how long have you been out of work? Are you trying this hard because you've failed at all other approaches? Or do you really think you're that good?

Here is a suggestion; go to your local bookstore and pick up a copy of "What Color is Your Parachute". It might help you, it might not.

By the way, I shredded your resume as you walked out the door.

Best regards,

Schmo, who will not be hiring you.

Throwing a Sideways Smile

Sometime ago at my previous Asylum my co-worker and I shared an awkward moment. Ron, from the sales department, stopped by our office to check on an order that was placed. Since we didn't have visitor chairs in our humble abode he chose to squat next to the desk while chatting with us.

After completing our transaction Ron stood and walked away. As he trotted down the hall I noticed a flash of white on his backside. I pointed this out to my co-worker who quickly looked and let out a burst of laughter.

"He's got a sideways pant smile going on!" Quickly slapping her hand over her face she looked at me with hand on mouth and eyes as big as saucers.

"You're going to tell me that I need to go tell him his pants are split, aren't you?" She nodded still holding in the laughter.

"But he was squatting at your desk!" I protested.

"He needs to hear it from a man." She said.

"But..." I was going to continue my protest.

"...from a man!" she insisted.

"Alriiight!"

I mustered up some courage and put on the straightest face I could considering I was approaching a man with pants split from here to there. Down the hall I went rehearsing my speech in my head.

Knock. "Hey Ron."

"What's up Schmo?"

"Uh, your, um, pants... yah, well we noticed that they were... welll... they are split." Phew! Got it out without busting up.

Ron reached around and felt. "SH!T, I have a meeting in 1/2 hour."

"I thought you should know." I rushed away.

I returned to my office only to be barraged by others who had been let in on the chuckle. I told them I did my duty and that co-worker owed me one.

The impromptu meeting in our office continued so I took advantage of the distraction to go use the restroom. As I entered I heard a familiar noise but a strange on for a restroom. Ka-Chunk! Ka-Chunk! Ka-Chunk! The sound of a stapler hard at work.

"Ron, is that you."

"Yes! I told you I have a meeting. This is all I could think to do."

"Your a frick'n MacGyver! Good luck with the meeting."

He walked with an odd step the rest of that day, but he had no sideways pant smile for us the rest of it.

A Kick to the Crotch

Spring break brings more visits from Future Boss. It also brings his sister around more too. She doesn't come around as often so she's not as familiar with the surroundings as her brother.

This week I got a special visit from both. They teamed up on me to garnish some goodies from my office. Since it is the season of Lent I am abstaining from sugar for 40 days. Next to coffee, it is the closest thing I have to an addiction. For the 40 days I decided to empty my office of the typical stash of sweetened goodies.

"Hey kids! I guess it must be spring break since you should be in school this time of day."

"Yep" as they both check the bowl for the latest goody to snack on. The their dismay they find it empty. "Where's the candy?" asks Future Boss. Although he's younger he plays the ring leader.

"There is no money in the budget for candy this month"

"I don't believe you"

"Fair enough"

"Is it in your drawer?"

"Nope"

"Yes, it is"

'Sorry kids. No candy during Lent. You'll have to wait until Easter to have some in this office"

"Nope. You've got some."

"Nope. I don't." Now I'm in a silly argument with a kid. Uhg.

"Show me where the candy is or my sister will kick you in the crotch"

*Stunned* "She'll do what?"

"She will kick you in the crotch"

With the stern look of a father who won't take this from a kid no matter who his father is "Listen youngster. That is not appropriate and you need to leave at this moment."

They run away. To daddy.

Did I say anything to daddy? Nope. Guess where they learn this behavior. He'd just laugh it off like he has in the past. Sad really. Sad. This kid has no hope.

Preface This

Boss Man has an annoying habit of prefacing every conversation with a statement to show how busy he is or how important he must be. I'm not really sure the point of the preface as he only has a handful of them and uses them incessantly. Like the boy who cried wolf, he has worn the edge of his preface blade so it results in a dull and irritating thump on the noggin instead of the slicing motivator he probably intends it to be.

Let's review the most common prefaces. These selected gems from his repertoire come at us on a daily basis.

"I'm in a flap." - This is his prized gem. Multiple uses daily. I've heard it for years but still don't know what a flap is or how he gets in it. I just picture in my mind a sleeping bag that he's zipped all the way up and now can't get his hands out to undo the zipper. Someday I'm going to find that elusive flap that keeps showing up and destroy it so he doesn't get in it anymore.

"I've got people chasing me." - Yikes! If I had people chasing me I'd let everyone know too so they could help get them off my scent. So scary. But in his world what this means is that he's taken two phone calls and both calls were from people who need something and now he is after you to help him get these people what they need.

"I'm in a sprint." - Ah, yes he is. He's moving fast because there is something else he'd rather be doing. And because he is the boss, what he needs and what he is doing outweighs anything you are doing even if it is something he needs to get the people chasing him off his back.

"I'm on the move." - See "I'm in a sprint."

"I'm going under." - This is slowly catching up to "I'm in a flap." in its usage quantities. Boss Man is singular minded which means he can only do one thing at a time. Definitely not a multitasker (which as a side note he thinks is a bull$h!t term and way overused). So when he pulls out "I'm going under." what he means is "I've got two or more things to do and I can't mentally handle it".

Because I am beginning to understand some of his neurosis I have developed some critical responses to the preface. The responses change from day to day but they serve the same purpose. Satisfaction. If only in my head, I want satisfaction. I say this because he never responds to my verbal parry to his preface attack. For example last week after he ran in telling me that "he's got people chasing him" I asked him "do you want me to cap some knees 'cause that'll slow them down?" Blank look. Oh well, I enjoyed it.

Shhh! Do You Smell That?

This must be a common problem at most work places... the smelly 'fridge. A communal food storage device is just asking for an odor problem. Am I right?

Ours reeks. Horribly. I'm afraid to put my food in there because I don't know what might be lurking that wants to glom onto my food. It's so bad it's hard to even open the door.

The strange thing is is that it is relatively new and appears to be clean. It is a late model euro design stainless steel model with all the auto-fancy gadgets. There is not a hint of mold crusted food or fuzzy fruit. By all appearances it should smell cold and fresh. But it does not.

I happen to be a brown-bagger so daily use of the icebox is pretty much a given. It is because of this daily use that I feel the need to solve the malodorous mystery. Others use it too but none have stepped forward to solve, let alone acknowledged that there is even a problem.

Last month I bought some Arm & Hammer refrigerator packs and put them in. Still stinks and I seem to be the only one that cares. I guess the next step is the bleach bath.

So Tired

Ever had a week that you finish and wonder if you can do it again? I have.


This past week was a rough one. I'd like to not repeat it. The Boss Man is getting crazier by the day. If you would have asked me six months ago if this was possible I would have said an emphatic "NO Way!".


The additional craziness explained... partially... I was walking along with him at one point this week and we were talking about an ongoing project. Every ten or so steps he'd either interrupt me or himself with an under the breath curse accompanied by a full body jerk and a quick wave of the hand. It was like the tantrum of a five year old. But he just kept walking along and didn't say what was wrong. He just kept doing it. I just kept walking and talking like nothing was the matter. Maybe I'm the crazy one. Still debating that one.


Later on his way to lunch he walked into my office and did the same thing. This time it was followed up with him ripping the bluetooth earpiece from his head and tossing it on my desk. "The DAMN thing beeps every time I get an email!" Ah. The light comes on. Now I get it. He reacts to voicemails the same way. A quick curse and throw of the hands in utter exasperation any time he gets a new voice mail. Now with the new laws on hands free driving he wears one of those cursed bluetooth ear pieces any time he's away from his desk.

The wheels were turning. That morning when I showed up to work I had at least twenty emails from him asking for various things. I decided to answer all of them while he was at lunch. I could just see him sitting at the restaurant throwing his tantrums. Yep. I can be a little passive aggressive.



*** By the way the Ghost visited this week. Yes. We have a Ghost. I'll tell you about him soon. He's quite something.

Down the Drain

Rules for flushing the toilet are fairly simple.

• Rule #1: you flush when you're done
• Rule #2: you give a courtesy flush when you're in a public bathroom going #2 and stinking up the place

That's pretty much it. Right?

Wrong!!!

Especially at The Asylum.

The plumbing at The Asylum is loud. Plain and simple. It is loud. Loud enough that when somebody in the upstairs bathroom flushes everyone can hear it. This is how I know what I know. And what I know is that there are two inmates at The Asylum that don't follow the rules. They are outside the box. Way outside.

Flush... Flush... Flush... Flush... Flush... This is what we hear when either Harriet or the Boss is using the facilities. Not one. Not two, but an average of five. FIVE Flushes. Sometimes it's more and rarely it's less.

Since these are single user bathrooms rule #2 is out. Unless it is a self courtesy flush. Being kind to their own olfactory senses. Could be. But it is still weird. What does one eat that requires multiple flushes.

It has been going on for as long as we've been in The Asylum. It isn't occasionally, it is most everyday. Flush... Flush... Flush... Flush... - - - - Flush... Then we start laughing. "We" being the poor souls downstairs that have to suffer through the flushes. The flushing will start and inevitably one of us will say "flush" and then the betting starts on how many there will be. You've got to guess the correct number, we don't allow any overs or unders. There's no prize, just the satisfaction of guessing the correct flush count. What the heck, it helps us pass the time.

Flush...

What is worse, oh yes it gets worse, is that these are two of the non-hand washers. They're doing something so bad to the toilet that it requires at least five flushes and then they don't wash their hands. How can this be? How can you sit there flushing and then think it's okay to not wash your hands. *Gag* I've got to stop. *Glurp* I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Don't Take Time Off

There is an unofficial punishment for taking time off from The Asylum. You are lashed with emails upon your return. Lashed like a prisoner... like a... crap! Yeah.

See, the Boss keeps an email folder for everyone in the company. This folder contains just about every email he's ever sent to you. Every.Single.One. When you take time off he thinks of you. Then he thinks of the email folder. Then... BAM! He nails you with about 20 for every four hours you take off. Bam. Bam! BAM!!! He fires them off, one after the frick'n other.

"What's going on with this?"

"Is this done? Yet?"

"Status?"

Wait. Don't go. That's not it. The story's not over.

Not only does he punish you when your gone, he punishes you when he's gone. Because he doesn't want you to ever think that he's not working so he does it when he's off. It's easy for him to pop open that folder and shoot off a few "Status?" emails when the wife isn't looking. Or better yet, he'll call. "Princess is in the bathroom so I've just got a sec. Will you please call So-N-So or Whatshisname and check on the gimsogadget for Jackshoff?" "Uh, aren't you on vacation in Mexico?" "Oh, wait... here she comes... sendmeanemailitgottago!"

STATUS?

Not Funny. Not.

Have you ever met somebody who is just not funny? Not only are they not funny but they think they're funny but are unable to tell a simple joke? Me too. I work for one.


He wants to be funny. He tries to be funny. He's just not. At all. Funny.


When he tries it comes off as pathetic. Sad really. It's typically a reused joke that someone else has already worn out.


For example, one night a couple of us were hanging out in the office just goofing off. One of the guys had a question about a knot and I showed him how to tie it. This began an informal knot class which led to the ultimate noose knot. After learing how to tie the knot my coworker took the string and knot and strung up this little knick-knack stuffed animal the boss has at his desk. He left it there for the boss to find the next morning hung from the ceiling above his computer.

I don't know why he did it, he just did. Which I guess is what made it funny. It was random. That kinda funny.


Flash to the next morning. I walk into my office to find a small statuette I had on my deskmy strung up in the same knot. This time there was a note attached to it from my boss which read "I got you back sucker!". Oh boy, I was on the floor in hysterics. Not. I didn't find it very funny but he did. He was just waiting for me to come in to watch my face when I saw it. I know this because he was standing right behind me when I turned around. He let me know how funny it was that he got me back.


My coworker who was the one who started it all was nearby trying not to laugh. That's what was funny and my boss had no idea. I just let him think that he got me.

Jesus Tongue

Future Boss stopped by my office the other night to check in on me. He's six.

He likes to come to my office because it is kid friendly, meaning I've got candy in my office. I also think he likes to come by and taunt me.

He acts like he owns the place. Not yet my little friend, not yet. He comes in starts picking up things and asking what they are just like a typical six year old. After a bit he becomes bored and comes over and starts watching me work. He just stands there looking over my shoulder. Practice for the future I guess.

Out of the blue he says "your tongue is brown". I explained that I'd been drinking coffee all day and that a brown tongue is one of the side effects. He proceeds to stick his own tongue out asking "what color is my tongue?" I take a peek and tell him that it is mostly red but has a little white and blue on it. He quickly pulled his tongue in and screeched at me with a massively contorted face "Well, I AM a Chrissstiannn!!!" Screeched. Like a little demon child. I was frightened.

After prayed the rosary and regained my composure I said "I'm not sure what Jesus has to do with the color of your tongue, but okay." He stared. I turned back to my work.

I can only imagine that there was an association of red, white and blue with Christianity that he learned somewhere. Home, church, who knows. After all Jesus was an American... right? What I do know is that it freaked me out a little; including the way he said it, his scary face while he said it combined with the idea behind it. Red, white and blue = Christianity. Yikes. Those poor hell-bound foreigners. Yeah, I know other countries have those colors in their flags but it's mostly associated with the good ole USofA.

As for Future Boss, I had to scoot him out of my cell or he would have stayed all night. I didn't want to risk another holy explosion. I told him that there were others he could go proselytize and that I needed to make daddy more money by getting back to work. He quizzically looked at me as I shut my door on him.

Don't Touch That

The Asylum is state of the art. Everything is automatic. Everything from the sinks to the garbage cans. Walk into a room and the lights go on, need to throw anything away the garbage lid opens, and when you take a pee the toilet flushes when you step away. You don't have to touch anything. Oh, except the door knobs.

For two months the sinks in the bathrooms on the top floor haven't worked. Put your hands under the faucet and you get nothing. Thankfully I work on the bottom floor and our sinks work. The problem is the kitchen and lunch room are on the top floor.

The folks upstairs don't seem to notice the problem here. They are still using those bathrooms. So where do they wash their hands you ask? THE KITCHEN (if they even wash, some don''t as I've observed). What's the problem with that? Let me tell you. There is a door between the hall with bathrooms and the kitchen. So. To get to the kitchen to wash their hands they have to open the door. A door I never want to touch again.

Call me a germaphobe. Go ahead, call poor schmo a name. The truth is I'm not afraid of the germs I'm afraid of the poo. Feces. Pee. Ew. I just threw up a little in my mouth thinking about it.

If CSI came to the Asylum they'd find a crime scene. They'd pull out the magic glasses and flashlights and find poo on our door knobs. The yellow tape would go up and Grissom would get the last word. That would be it. I'd be put in a room with a one-way window and I'd have to point out the culprits in a line up.

To add to the bad news, the new faucets have been in for over a week and they can't seem to get them installed.

Overheard

Harriet (Director of HR) to Lisa (Bookkeeper): "How many pay periods in a year?"

Lisa: "Uh, 26... Why?"

Harriet: "I need to know for a form I'm filling out."

Lisa: "Ok."

Lisa looks at me in dismay. "She's our Director of HR?" "Yep!" I say. And Lisa then tells me it's the second time she's asked in the past month. Wha?!?!

We just couldn't figure out how somebody with a law degree who has been elevated to the position of Director of HR couldn't figure out how many pay periods are in the year. We are paid every two weeks. Since there are fifty two weeks in a year it isn't that hard to calculate.

The Asylum

Where I work is of no consequence.

Whom I work with, or for, is of utmost importance.

My name is Schmo and I work for crazy people. Not the kind of crazy you see on the streets of downtown Middleton but the kind of crazy you meet in everyday life and just gawk at. The kind of crazy you make fun of because it's okay to. They don't know they're crazy. I guess no crazy person really knows they're crazy, but this is different. They move through life with us normal people and blend in for the most part. They aren't wearing their undies over their clothes but once you get to spend time with them the undies start showing up. Metaphorically speaking of course.

I've overstayed my welcome at The Asylum. My departure is long overdue. The craziness has driven me to this. A blog. How long I can keep it up is not known. But I will try to, as long as I can, convey the madness to you. Maybe it's not how long I can keep it up rather how long you can keep up with it before lumping me in with the crazies for staying at The Asylum.

My name is Schmo and this is my life. My view from The Asylum.