If I could offer you only one piece of advice it would be to drink coffee. The long term benefits have been proven in lab rats, where as the rest of my advice is still waiting for FDA approval.
Enjoy the power and beauty of pastries. However, you will never fully understand the power and beauty of doughnuts. Trust me 20 years from now you will look back at old photographs and realize how little possibilities stuck out from your waist.
You were not as fat as you are now.
Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying after consuming large amounts of coffee leads to heart trouble and irrational thinking. Real problems are those that tend to never cross your caffeinated mind, like who keeps getting grounds in the coffee?
You should take the barista choice once. Even if the price scares you.
Tip you barista.
Don’t waste money on enamel whiteners. You’re screwed.
Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know how you want your coffee. Some of the most interesting 20 years I know drink it black. Some of the most interesting 40 years drink it with soy. Their choice is dictated by diabetes and lactose intolerance. Yours can be too.
Don’t drink DeCaf. It will only make you feel sleepy.
And remember don’t forget about the Espresso.
Musings
Now that we have moved past the restroom habits of my current colleagues I thought we could have a chat about their obsession with vehicular manslaughter. More specifically, they love to throw people under the bus. Now I have to admit that I have been in the line of fire, had a huge bulls-eye on my back, gun to my head and so forth, but I have never had to lay down in front of that great steel giant of mass transit. So, you can understand my concern and fear when I first heard the phrase. I was later relieved when I found out we were not separating a lot of families from their loved ones.
The act of being “thrown under the bus” is, as you may have guessed, the act of humiliating one of your co-workers in an important situation after they have stood in the way of your preconceived idea of progress. Now you can understand why my department is obsessed with it. We are a very progressive people. I have give my team credit, they are considerate. In most cases, before slamming someone down to inspect the underside of a Greyhound, the slammer calls the slamee just to let them know that they should put their coveralls on. I found that this is expected office etiquette.
I have found that I am not however subtle enough to say I am going to go throw so and so under the bus. No, I find that I am far more inclined to threaten the concerned parties with death. I believe this hearkens back to being bullied as a child and drinking too much coffee. My therapist is currently undecided about my childhood, but we can agree on the coffee.
So that is my little insight for this week. Beware of my co-workers for they are seeking to pass the buck under the guise of a little needed bus maintenance. Also, I promise to lay off the coffee and take my drugs : )
Musings, Right Brain
For those few who have noticed, yes this is the first post that I have made to the blog in sometime. For those of you for which nothing passes by, yes this would be considered my first real post. I am not really sure I believe in “your” existence, but “you“ may be out there and thanks for noticing.
I know that we all feel that our offices are all ripped straight from cubicled (not really a word) halls of Dilbert. To some extent that is true. We all have our lovable weirdo that lives in a corner and hugs his red stapler. “You” may even be that person and I say who cares as long you don’t own fire arms.
This is hopefully the first in a long series of essays about the wild life that I have and currently work with. I also hope for a book deal and possibly movie rights, but that is up to “you”. (Once again let say how thrilled I am that “you” came and that I am coming to terms with your possible existence). So let’s talk about my unique set of staple jockeys.
I have been at my current job for some time. Long enough to start playing the party politic in fact, but that is a later story. I have observed my co-workers closely and I have to say they are most unique, only a mother could love ‘em bunch I have worked with and they have a disgusting habit. They talk on their cellphones while in the restroom. I am not just talking about while standing around the sink or on the way out the door. We are talking full on, in the stall, with strains of pain and all.
So tell me those of “you” (I really don’t believe these people exist, because everybody who reads my blog has better manners) that participate in this practice, what the f$#k is so important that it couldn’t wait?? Some of “you” are talking to your family. Couldn’t get your wife to call ya back? What are you thinking? I am pretty sure your mama didn’t raise you in a barn. (I don’t in fact know your mama, but if I did don’t think I wouldn’t tell). And then there is the noise. A “Full House” sounds like a cross between a whopee cushion, a sex parlor and a water works. Surely “you” don’t think none of that gets across or does the fact that you are ignoring it make it go away for everyone.
One last point and I will put this rant to bed. You may have your nice college education and cozy desk job, but when it comes down to it all of that is wasted. Why? Because, you have no manners. Let me put it this way and maybe you’ll listen. It is this kind of behavior that blurs the line between the red necks and the yuppies, proving we are all trailer trash after all.
Musings