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If They Take My Stapler Then I’ll Set The Office On Fire

By Miscellaneous | Comment Diversions | September 30, 2010 | Comments ()

By Miscellaneous | Comment Diversions | September 30, 2010 |


Stapler-swingline-red.jpg

Yesterday I had an occurrence at my office that necessitated speaking with one of my female employees about hygiene. It was so disturbing that I took to Facebook to ask the advice of the Pajibettes as to how to broach the subject with said employee. All of it was helpful in one way or another, but unfortunately much of it will be ultimately futile. What you have to understand is that my office is comprised of three people: my two female assistants and myself. One of my assistants has only been on the job for two weeks and wouldn't dream of stirring the pot at this point. Ergo, there is absolutely no way that this issue can be dealt with anonymously.

I imagine that if I worked in a cubicle farm it would be no problem. An email could be sent to everyone in the office stating "This (insert behavior) isn't acceptable" and the guilty party would immediately know what they did. Or a complaint could be brought to Human Resources and Lainey could deal with it as she sees fit. Alas, as I am Human Resources as well as many other things, there's no way for me to avoid this duty. Of course I'll have to tell you what the offense was as right now it doesn't really make any sense why I'm so hesitant to bring it to her attention. I'll try to be as delicate as possible due to the fact that I don't want to appear disgusting or uncouth because, if I'm anything, it's a paragon of sophistication and class.

Men tend to catch a lot of hell for their bathroom habits and, as I live in a household with four women and it's constantly brought to my attention, I'll not deny that sometimes we can be a little bit of a challenge when it comes to restroom etiquette. We leave the seat up, we smell, we splash, we know. However, as I share a bathroom with two women at work, I try to minimize any trauma I may visit upon my two assistants and I would like to think that they do the same. That's why I was taken aback when I walked into the bathroom yesterday and was visited by what appeared to be the remnants of a Hostel-esque death scene.

There was blood everywhere. It appeared that a multitude of people were disemboweled, skinned, sawn in half and then their bloody carcasses were flung about the room with such reckless abandon as to bring to mind the inside of an unlicensed slaughterhouse. As I stood there in front of the toilet with my poor, terrified, yet still impressive member in hand, I questioned how I was to broach the subject with the perpetrator of this unspeakable act? My first inclination was to draw a bunch of chalk outlines everywhere, put up some police tape and scream like TK watching Drag Me To Hell. Upon hearing my manly shriek, the two ladies would come sprinting to the Cubicle of Horror to see what had so disturbed my tender soul. At this time, I would ask if either of them knew who the murder was? I was 100% sure of the culprit, so there was only one drawback that I could foresee to this plan: the complaint to The Labour Standards Branch and the inevitable lawsuit to follow.

It turns out that I do actually have a very small amount of professionalism tucked away in a dark and dusty corner of my vault of talents. I sat the offender down in private and ask that she pay a little more attention to the state of the facilities during certain periods of the calendar. While there was embarrassment on both of our parts, the bathroom is now pristine and I remain employed. I'm seeing a professional about the night terrors and I hope to be able to use the bathroom without breaking down in uncontrollable sobs soon.

What are your office horror stories? Perhaps there's that cubicle neighbour you can't stand? Maybe there was a bathroom incident similar to mine. You may not work in an office but are forced to share a space with a person who wears a crown of asshats. Here's your chance, tell us about the circus of horrors that are your co-workers.

*Please note that there may have been a very small amount of hyperbole used in this post. Just a dash for seasoning, if you will.

Robert Scott is irredeemably Canadian and lives on the frozen tundra amongst the moose. He has no idea what he's doing here and reserves the right to make grand claims without any evidence to back them up. He is steadfast in his attempt to prove that Canadians aren't nice or polite and looks forward to the day when America becomes a province.



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