I must say, I am completely and utterly appalled. During our 5 hour work meeting today, (wrong in and of itself), my co-worker ‘let one go’ TWICE. Not once, but two times. The first time I heard a sound from that direction I was like, “Naww, couldn’t be”, but when he mumbled, “Oh, excuse me” , I knew my worst fears had come to fruition.

I was quite impressed with my response though.  I acted like nothing was wrong, and just went about my business like everything was kosher and I hadn’t just witnessed a fundamental bi’ness law broken. I really am growing up.

When it happened the second time though, I couldn’t control the look of disgust on my face.  It’s just wrong. Okay, you have an accident once, and we move forward. But twice in the same meeting?  Almost makes it seem like you think it’s okay to toot as long as you say excuse me afterward.

Sorry buddy, it’s NOT OKAY!  Nowhere, no how.  There is a BIG difference between a sneeze and what you’re doing. Two different animals.

Our secretary has done it again.

Here’s her latest email:

To: LA-All
From: The Receptionist
Subject: Lost Celly

There’s a cell phone on the loose. If you see a lone one roaming the halls please guide it back to reception….

Or maybe I’m just so jaded from office cubicle living all day that I think she’s a professional comedian and her email wasn’t funny at all.

No, no she’s actually pretty funny now that I think about it. You know how people always send out company emails and start out with “Sorry for the spam…”, but then proceed to spam you anyway? Or maybe that’s just Internet company lingo. “Regular” companies probably don’t speak like that. Yet. They’ll come around sooner or later, I’m sure.

Anyway, yesterday our secretary sent out a mass email that ended with “And I’m NOT sorry for the spam.” Yeah, she’ll make you LOL all right.

Yesterday we had a meeting about our “hours of operation”, which was really just a polite way of talking about us coming in late and leaving early. I really don’t think we’re to blame though. We’ve been conditioned. Like many computer companies, (except for one that I won’t give away but I will say rhymes with “Shawhoo!”), we’ve had very relaxed work hours in the past. They can’t just change the policy overnight and expect people to adhere. There has to be an adaptation period. Fair is fair.

Apparently, despite our best efforts, our supervisor knows exactly what we’ve been up to regarding our departures. He’s well aware that we leave early and SWO (silently walk out) on the regular. He preferred to use the term “scooby-dooby-doo on outta here”, but whatever. To each his own.

He said that my ping-pong partner Nikki swaggers out like “I’m f*ckin Nikki Jackson!”, Natasha keeps scurrying back and forth because she forgets things, and I exaggeratedly tiptoe out. He’s right on the money too. He has a gift, that one.

So I guess our game is up. We’ll have to go back to the methods we used to use prior to discovering the art of the SWO. Back then, we would wait for our boss to leave and then just leave immediately afterward. Allowing time for a bathroom stop and some elevator waiting of course.

We had stopped doing it when our boss made a comment that he had gone to the bathroom one night for a second, and when he came back to tell us something our entire area was deserted. With the additional skills that we’ve learned “on the job” however, I’m confident that we won’t be make the same mistake this time around.

We now have his leaving routine down to a science. First the rumblings occur, alerting us to the fact that a departure is commencing. Then we wait 10 minutes after the door closes, do a cursory double-checking of the desk to make sure the computer’s off and the cell phone is nowhere to be found, and we’re off. I almost feel like we’re like dogs. My ears perk up at the sound of the first rumblings, and I begin gathering clues from my “leader” about what’s going to happen next. A walk? A treat? Somebody’s getting ready to leave? Maybe his Scooby analogy really wasn’t that far off after all, huh?

Before we get any further, let me clarify that that’s not really me. I’m much much prettier than her ;0)

I love what she’s doing though. Working, but at the beach and away from the office. Working, but not really. It’s like she’s, why it’s like she’s … drumroll please… it’s like she’s working from home.

“Working” from home is an activity of which I’m extremely fond. I’m a huge, huge fan. I do need to be careful and control my enthusiasm though, which I realize after today’s department meeting. During the meeting, our supervisor informed us that if we meet a certain quota for “whatever it is that we do”, (you know how computer jobs are always impossible to explain to the layperson; I’m not even going to bore you to tears trying), we’ll be guaranteed one day a month to work from home. I got all riled up and responded inappropriately, “So you’re telling me that if we meet this quota we’re guaranteed a day off next month?”

Jeez, Cherie. Think before you speak Rookie Office Worker. “Working from home one day a month” is not the same thing as “a day off”, even if you personally have your own opinion on the subject.

Luckily though, my supervisor didn’t realize my mistake. He just said, “Yep, that’s right” and went on conducting bi’ness. I didn’t realize my faux pas either until my friends pointed it out after the meeting.

Now that was a close one. I really need to check myself before I wreck myself. What if my supervisor hadn’t been as “enlightened” as I am? I need to learn that when I’m working in the office, I should have my professional face on. When I’m working in the home on that beautiful day next month however, it’s gonna be a different story altogether (wink wink).

I’m minding my own business, innocently going to the printer to pick up a work-related printout, and what do I see? There it was, in plain view. A certain co-worker had apparently ordered 4 packs of Hanes His Way underpants, and then consicientiously decided to print out the receipt in the unlikely event of shipping issues. He hadn’t been so conscientious as to actually pick up the receipt from the printer however.

It was like waking up to sushi first thing in the morning. A shock one, and not necessarily what you’re in the mood for two.

They weren’t even boxer briefs, which may have made it a little better. Considering the recipient of this internet purchase however, it’s really a moot point. One of the last things I want to picture is this particular person in his tightey whiteys (well, in his Hanes size 2XL $7.00 for a pack of 7 white briefs of which he’s about to have 28 new pairs I should say), but of course that’s instantly what came to mind. They say “Don’t think of a Pink Elephant” and what’s the first thing you think of?

This particular co-worker should be very happy I found the receipt. Had it fallen into the wrong hands, the results could have been disastrous. This place isn’t as lax as it seems. We all sit on balls (an Internet company requirement that our Big Brother Google started. Well more like everybody’s Big Brother I should say.) If Google jumped off the bridge, would we jump as well? That’s all I’m saying. Let’s be independent thinkers Internet Company.

One time I leaned back on my ball to stretch, and I got talked to about doing yoga while “on the job”. So something tells me that buying intimates on the job wouldn’t go over that well either.

Today was the big day. Our company-sponsored doubles ping-pong tournament was finally upon us. A battle to the finish. The teams had been painstakenly matched by our very own CPPA (Company Ping Pong Association), and we were ready to go. The paddles were polished and the shoulders were stretched. Let’s play ball!

My ‘team’, as no wo-man is an island, consists of myself and my P cubed (ping pong partner) Nikki. My ‘P to the 3rd Degree’, as I’ve heard in the trash talk that’s been going around the office of late. Remember, I work for an Internet Company. Even the smack is technical.

We were slotted for 2:30. Us (The Avenging Angels) v. Them (Dave & Dominic- The Double D’s.) Which should have been our name, since Nikki has a lot going on ‘upstairs’. I’m not too shabby in that department either, if I do say so myself.

The match went well. We lost, but still. Comparing it to our last tournament when I took a flying leap into an innocent bystander who was sitting down eating her lunch, it went well. Or was she a by-seat-er?  (good one Cherie)  Anyway, her tray went flying, and I cut my hand on the table. But don’t worry, it wasn’t my paddle hand. Thanks God. I owe you one Big Guy. Who knew ping pong could be so dangerous? Dare I say akin to hockey?

I think we would have won this time too, but our opponents kept distracting us with the 10,000 rules that apparently exist for this complicated sport. We were thrown off kilter. You see, Nikki and I play street ping pong. It’s a little different. There’s two rules, and two rules only. Never let them see you cry, and you need spin if you’re gonna win. Aside from that, you’re on your own. Just you and the ball.

One of their ‘ official rules’ was that we had to partake in ‘alternate hitting’. I hit the ball first, then Nikki had to go, then me again, and so forth. Which definitely took some getting used to. I kept forgetting it was my turn and ‘checking out’. (Hmmmm, whatever will I have for dinner?) By the time I would come back down to Earth and hear her yelling, “Go! It’s you! What are you, out to lunch?!?), it was too late.

No regrets when all’s said n’ done though. Ping pong is a wonderful way to work off ‘lunch’. Our slop options for the day were Shim’s Chinese (70’s 2 am takeout MSG-laden microwaveable Chinese food), or Hungarian goulash with buttered noodles (Hungarian goulash with buttered noodles). Yum. I staved off starvation with some Trader Joe’s freeze-dried pineapple I keep at my desk precisely for dire situations just like these. It’s also works well as consolation food, just FYI.

Yes, that’s right. Fridays are Cheesedays at work.

You see, one of the perks of working for an Internet company is that they do whatever they can to keep us here, including offering free lunch every day. Before you get all excited, however, we should stop and focus on what they consider food.

Monday through Thursday, we have a hot lunch and a “healthy alternative”. Friday, however, is a different story altogether. We have…., well, we basically have cheese. Although I guess that’s not entirely true, we do also have the bad Indian food option. I shouldn’t be spreading rumors just because I can and you would never be the wiser. Let’s give credit where credit is due.

Here are the options for our Friday lunch:

Bad Indian Food: I’m nothing if not a girl of my word, right? I said I would shout out their inedible Indian food option and just look at me. My mom would be so proud.

Bad Mexican Food: So bad that I actually feel a little guilty associating the word “Mexican” with it. I live in Los Angeles, where delicious Mexican food can be found on every cornerito. And this ain’t it. This is quesadillas (read: cheese & tortillas with faux guacamole), burritos (more cheese & tortillas with some chicken & lettuce thrown in to distract us into thinking they’re different from the quesadillas), and nachos (chips and you-know-what, although it’s canned liquid cheese that they so temptingly call “The Bubbling Cauldron of Nacho Cheese”.) It’s the kind that should be reserved for special occasions like baseball games or when you’re at the circus. Not the kind that should be readily available on a weekly basis.

Pizza: Which is actually not half-bad, but there’s that dreaded ingredient again. Grrrrr.

Bad Sandwiches: We have the choice of either a Caprese sandwich (cheese & tomato), or a hot sandwich option. And today’s hot sandwich? Grilled cheese. Thanks guys. Thanks for officially spoiling 3 different food cultures for me in one day: Mexican, Italian, and Middle American Napoleon Dynamite food. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

Do you know where I can get a good spam filter? Because work emails are still seeping through into my Inbox under the pretense that they pertain to me. Well, they do not. And I say that most emphatically.

Even if I did actually take the time and read them, it would take too long to decipher the meaning from the computer-ish language mumbo jumbo that our IT Department calls “English”. I don’t have time for that. There’s important work to be done! Like writing a post for this little guy, for example. They don’t grow on trees you know. I put my heart & soul into this masterpiece and this is the thanks I receive? No puedo, no puedo mas! And I mean that in the huffiest way possible. I’m not sorry either. You know what you did.

Sorry, mi gente. Apparently I’ve watched one too many Spanish telenovelas these days in an effort to bone up on my Spanish, and now I think it’s normal to create drama everywhere I go. Be warned, watching even one is the same thing as watching one too many. All of a sudden your life will be filled with crying, cheating, and “Ay, Dios!” es every five minutes. And that can’t be healthy.  You’ll have no one to blame but yourself either.

Whew, that was a serious digression. Back to the spam.

Here it was, in all its glory:

Date: Wednesday, April 4th, 2007
Start Time: 22:00 PDT
Estimated End: 22:11 PDT

Service/Equipment: Exchange Email Server Type Of Work: Software Install Purpose Of Work: Enable Improved Reporting Impact Of Work: Email downtime

The engineers will be installing reporting software on the server for SVN maintenance. Production job processing in BMC will be placed on hold during this time. Another email will be sent out once job processing has been resumed.

Sincerely,

Your IT Department

What tha fuu? Sorry? I didn’t quite catch that.

Why do they keep cc’ing me about things that have nothin to do with me! Now I’ll need a break before I can get back to concentrating on what I was doing before I was so rudely interrupted. And that was reading The Delicious Life, if you must know.

I mean seriously. Stop the spam computer company! Enough already. No puedo mas.

It’s a new fiscal quarter here in computer company land, and apparently we employees are being affected as well.

We just got a goodbye email from a programmer who quit today, and he signed it “Sincerely, 1548688.” Now he was probably just being tongue-in-cheek or trying to get a last dig into his supervisor, because who really knows the reason for his “moving on” so suddenly, but still. I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

That employee should really watch his jokes at the office. I know he’s leaving, but what about the rest of us? Jokes can become reality buddy. One day you’re brainstorming about how to keep your oil money safe and laughingly suggest “creating a war with a distant country” as the solution, and then next thing you know one thing leads to another. It’s a slippery slope, that’s all I’m saying.

As I was getting into my car last night, I saw Pradeep, a contractor from India who works with me. I know it’s shocking to hear of a computer company that hires Indian contractors, but I’m not even making this up. Sometimes truth really is stranger than fiction.

Pradeep’s car wouldn’t start, and I ended up helping him. Helping him, that is, by calling AAA. Did you expect anything more? I’m just not a knowlegable car girl. Or a knowlegable sports team girl. That’s just how it goes folks, much to the chagrin of the men I date.

Anyway, today he wrote me a thank you email.

Before we proceed, let me provide you with a little background information. My name is Cherie Turner. Well, to be honest, that’s not my real last name. Are you crazy? Hellooooooo, there’s identity theft everywhere, and I refuse to be another statistic. But let’s just pretend that it’s my name for the sake of the story.

Here’s his email:

To: Cherie Turner

From: Pradeep Ponuswamishah

Hi Turner,

Thanks a million for your help last night. I will never forget this help to the very final end.

Cheers,

Pradeep

Awwww, thanks Pradeep. Or I guess I should say thanks Ponuswamishah. Apparently that’s how people refer to each other in Indian business talk. I’m not really used to being called “Turner”. But hey, who am I to argue? “Turner” it is. To the very final end.