Snarky and Sweet

So as I’m getting ready to leave the country and the job I’ve hated way too much for waaay too long I’m starting to kind of freak out.  I’m starting to get nostalgic for weird things like, “Aw this is the last time I’ll ever file things, or the last time I’ll ever go outside and pretend to smoke so I don’t have to stare at my cube walls anymore.”  So, in order to not get too sad (count of people who get bleary/teary eyed at the thought of my leaving = 2.  And not 2 people I would have thought even noticed my existence. Kind of sweet) I have decided to compile a list of things I will NOT miss, to remind me of why I’m leaving and how fucking bad-ass Argentina is going to be:

My computer speaks to me in German.  Now, I’m conversant in German and can zurück, löschen, and wiederholen with the best of them but it’s just odd.  Given that my computer gives me errors exclusively in German it would hold that when correcting my spelling and grammar in word documents it would default to German too, yes? Oh no. No no no no.  I thought I was a Europhile but my computer takes the cake.  It corrects in Dutch.  That’s right: the land of windmills, wooden shoes, and pot (which maybe my computer is smoking in it’s off time because, seriously, WTF?)  So Dutch and German are kiiiinda close and I can sometimes make out what it’s trying to instruct me to do but this is America.  All of my customers and coworkers speak English.  I can’t send them some weird half-English half-Dutch contract for services.  Sidenote: I had a friend in high school who was half-Dutch and half-American and she was gorgeous.  If I ever breed this would be a good mix.  So, even though it’s exciting and breaks up the monotony of my day I will not miss my pot-smoking, Europhile computer even if it would have really cute babies.

Now, if you think I’m bitchy and bitch a lot about my job you have to imagine that I’m definitely not the worst one at my office.  I’m sorry if your head just exploded from trying to envision that but it’s true.  And there is one coworker in particular (although there are many fun stories including the time a high-heeled shoe was thrown at a wall leaving a perfectly circular dent) who takes the cake.  She has mastered the art of bitching in a way that would be almost admirable if it wasn’t so fucking annoying.  She comes in and bitches to one coworker for approximately 45 minutes to an hour with her door open.  No amount of Eurotrash pop music at an unreasonable volume discourages this.  THEN she settles in for 15-20 minutes of real, hard work.  Then coworker #2 comes down the hall and the two of them do one of two things:

1)      Continue bitching with the door closed

2)      Whisper bitch

Both options are equally horrific and would make even the most secure person (which I’m not) think it was about them. The door option at least means you have a chance to think and be around something positive.  The whisper option is often followed with swift glances around and the occasional word that makes you curious enough to wish it was out loud and lots of laughter. Why were they laughing about traffic cones? Did I hear them say “Snuffleupagus”???  Seriously it’s awful.  It’s like the whisper song only I don’t think anyone is gonna  beat the pussy up beat the pussy up.  But maybe.

Also, shockingly enough I actually know how to do my damn job without someone constantly belittling me and calling my intelligence into question. One coworker in particular is the queen of condescension. Ironically, she actually does so very little of the duties that fall under her job title that everyone pretty much wonders how the hell she fills her time at the office each day. When she asked me to print a document for her (the likes of which I’ve printed only a trillion times before) and I asked her for the location of the event, which is a pretty significant piece of information to include, she immediately launched into an explanation of how I open my computer’s server to locate the file. I get it, dumb bitch, but thanks for a lesson in how to resist strangling people in a fit of rage!

Finally, my office consists of more gossipy busy-bodies than I ever though could coexist in one place without the world imploding then and there. They comment on what you’re wearing, what you do and do not eat, and basically everything else. Seriously, someone was almost fired for sending a nasty email ABOUT me TO me about my eating habits.  Then the same person he meant to send it to started asking me if I was anorexic.  CHOOSE people.  I’m either a giant heifer OR an anorexic waif.  I cannot be both.

We sometimes have lunch brought into the office and one day I forgot about this and actually ate the one I brought from home. You’d think my lunch eating habits were hotter news than Brangelina’s brood the way the news of my failure to scoop bbq meat from a communal trough and shove it in my mouth spread through the halls. Five or six people asked me why I wasn’t eating lunch. Do you not like BBQ? Are you a vegetarian? Come on, lunch is here, why aren’t you eating? I think this experience just goes to show what a sad little microcosm our office really is. A company-supplied lunch and watching for who does or does not eat it truly represents the most exciting part of a work week. How’s that for depressing?