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Posts Tagged ‘Moments of Aggravation’

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This is the sound of my coworker checking her email. You see, she has approximately an inch (maybe an inch and a half) high window in which to read her email. And given that most of her emails are from eBay (I know this because I have to help her print them once a month), they use an excessively large font, so she can read approximately one line (of three words) at a time. So she scrolls down. Manually. clickaclickaclickaclicka.

There are several potential solutions to this. She could: A) use the neat little double-arrow cursor to drag her (three inches plus tall) inbox window up so she has more space to read actual content; B) maximize the entire window (they got this button thingy in the corner that does just that, I hear); C) use that neat little ‘scroll’ feature on the side of the window; D) use those cute little arrow keys designed for this sort of thing; E) move her finger a centimeter to the right and use the mouse wheel. She does F) none of the above. She probably doesn’t realize she can do G) any of the above. And my best guess is she wouldn’t even care should I snap and bring this up.

(Although, what does one say in this situation? ‘Your refusal to apply logical thought to basic technology is producing a sound that makes me want to punch a baby.’ Would that help? Or would she just think I’m crazy?)

I don’t know, I think it’s the sheer refusal to learn or change that makes me crazy, moreso than the sound itself.

Nope, it’s not.

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How does Miss Manners suggest one deals with coworkers that don’t shut up? In my little 9-to-5 world, I do not get paid after 5. So why, at 5:10, am I still standing there? Because for the past ten minutes, one of my coworkers has been regaling me with tales of their sister/cousin/vague relative of some sort. Someone that she knows, that I most definitely do not. And this is not the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last. So there I stand, bag in hand, sunglasses perched on forehead for split-second ease into the ‘ready’ position at the bridge of my nose, rattling my keys and looking, to anyone with eyes, like someone who has clocked out and wants to go home. Except my coworker does not have eyes, and I’m stuck there, studying her every sentence for a definitive end where I can cut out and I can make a graceful exit. “Oh, your sister’s ex-boyfriend’s neighbor’s cat has liver cancer? Yes, that is a shame. Well, I should run. Wouldn’t want to catch it myself.”

But really, how is one expected to counter these attacks? Should I keep a plethora of small and shiny objects at my desk to distract her with? Rig up an elaborate system of lights and mirrors to bream pretty lights every time she drops by? The worst part is, on particularly boring and seemingly endless days, I embrace her ability to chat forever on completely unrelated topics as to distract myself from tedium for a half-hour or so. It’s like saying, “Well, I hate money, except for when it’s buying me stuff.”

By the time all these thoughts are done dancing about this Brain’s brain, it’s already 5:20 and I’m already thinking about lying on my time sheet and saying I worked for those extra twenty minutes. This should count as overtime.

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I like to think of myself as relatively easy-going. (Stop laughing.) Still, there’s a part of me, some might say my patience, that comes to a grinding, screeching halt, like a cat getting caught in an engine, when certain scenarios come to light.

For example, the associate who does not know the words ellipsis/ellipses, and refers to them as “a dot dot dot.” You know, that one, even, I’ll let slide. Punctuation has a lot of big, elaborate names for what is essentially a handful of dots. And it’s not as though I don’t know what is meant by the phrase (all right, maybe sometimes it takes me a minute, but I’m a Brain, after all, and therefore terribly elitist, and expecting the same from my compatriots).

Or there is the individual I know with the absolutely abysmal grammar, the don’ts instead of the doesn’ts, and the frustrating ability to drop vowel sounds at random (and in a non-ironic way. I cut a lot of slack for poor spoken language skills when used for intentionally comedic effect).

And then there’s the person who likes to send emails such as the following,

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE
RESET THE MACHINE AFTER RUNING SEVERAL COPIES
BACK TO ONE.

The second-line indentations, the misspelled verbs, and the unforgivable capslock sin. Rest assured, that one is committed every time. My skin, how it crawls. My only consolation is that the way this body is arranged, it might be the sender’s misguided attempt at poetry. (Aren’t all attempts at poetry by definition misguided? Ignore previous posts.)

How can I ever achieve a Zen state when faced with these situations?

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