Now, again, 13 years in corporate environs makes you very aware of Political Correctness. Definitions vary, sure, but you get what P's and Q's one should mind are they to work for a major corporation or have to scan a badge to enter their building. The big ones are typically identifying forms of harrassment, creating hostile work environments, and cursing/acting crazy. (The latter of the last two can be debated. I've known some crazy motherf#ckers in my various tenures.)
He's early 40's, "husky", and according to my trainer- doesn't have a girlfriend. So he's at the office almost 50+ hours a week. Drives a big ol' F150 with the back window obfuscated with a NYC skyline before all the frass happened 8 years ago. And door handles in the shapes of US Flags. God Bless 'Merica, indeed. My bleeding heart sympathizes, and I maintain my stance of openmindedness. Seems like a nice enough fella. Until, he starts talking.
It's not that I'm afraid of blue language. Or that I can identify words/statements that some people may deign offensive. On the contrary, I like to think I have a pretty high bullshit meter. And outside of expulsing any real vehemence towards race/lifestyle etc...there's precious little that could rile me. Until he says to my trainer (clearly used to this treatment) "This spec is f#cking retarded, could you look at it gaylord?"
Yup. Oh, other bon mots? (Stop me if you get the vibe that there may be a closet case floating around)
- (Before work, waiting to unlock the door, to my trainer) "Holy s#it_______...I can see your dick and balls through your pants!"
- (About my trainer possibly having to skip town, avoiding the fantasy baseball session, to go with his wife to visit a possible friends newborn in Chicago) "Whoa...are you gay or something?"
- (About the nice glass repair lady who dropped off strawberries and business cards) "She a hottie? Whoa...Noooooo. Woof".
- (About my trainers mom. Apparently a MILF) "Hey_______...Does your mom still ask you about what we did a few weeks ago? I kinda miss her"
- (About my heating up Boca Burgers for lunch the other day) "What are those?" (I explain) "Nooooo...are you? Noooo. Those aren't any good. Those can't be any good. You don't really like those, do you? Does your girlfriend make you eat those? Nooooo"*
- The whining. For real, out of the last 8 hour days I've had he's interrupted no less than 1/3rd to ask questions- Which I'm fine with...but when the shout (small office) "HEY! WHAT'S OUR CITY CODE?" (He was sent the link on Monday to the site that lists them)/"I SENT IT TO YOU ALREADY, OPEN THE LINK!" (Pause) "COULD YOU SHOW ME?"...I stared at my trainer with as little disbelief as I could muster. In case you're curious, Wednesday was kind of a wasted day.
- He doesn't shut his PC down at night, doesn't get his updates, and couldn't take an online licensing exam...so he bullied my trainer out of his room to use his PC to take it. 2 hours, where I did nothing. At this point, I'm worried that I'm going to look unproductive.
Sigh part two.
Trainer update- Today, I was informed global warming isn't real. Hybrid cars are for suckers. We won't run out of fossil fuels and they aren't technically pollutants. And our President actually said that he plans on bankrupting the coal industry. ("He wouldn't say that, dude." /"Yes he did. I'll bring the recorded quote in on Monday") My tongue is swollen from biting it. And for not being too political a guy, I really feel that I'm doing a good job of not biting his rhetoric in the interest of keeping my job.
*The day he commented on my lunch, the morning started with his coming into my trainers office with a paper bag that had a bottom soaked shiny with grease. He takes out the wax paper wrapped contents and shows what...may have been in a past life a bagel sandwich. I say "may have" because it was covered with congealed cheese which had two greenish-black, jalapeno peppers I think? And something that may have been eggs and bacon pushing out the edges. The actually both ooohed and ahhhed over it saying how good it looked. I didn't say anything. Just smiled and nodded. For real, ain't my place to judge.
When he came back into the office around an hour after consuming it (This would be question number three of the day) He stopped mid-sentence, made a face, hit himself in the chest just below his collarbone and made a comment about how it felt like it was coming back up. We both made sympathetic comments back. (Myself, doing a little sing-song "Told you so" in the deep recesses of my brain) And then he followed up with "It'll be worse on the way out, you know?"...then proceeds to lift a leg, pull his arm downwards like he's sending off a foghorn, cross his eyes, and make a raspberry noise.
My life, folks. Yours in entertainment.
Baby P
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