Wednesday, February 5, 2020
In which I reach out to a co-worker
I would perhaps not write this particular brief, pointed account if all my co-workers read this blog. I am sensitive to the feelings of others. But I am less sensitive to the feelings of others who do not read my blog. They're just so... disappointing. In the end how much respect have they actually earned?
But oddly this post, brief as its actual content may be, would be best applied if all my co-workers did read my blog. And so into this conundrum I say:
I take up perhaps more than my fair share of space in our work and break areas. I have commandeered drawers, cabinets, and sections of counters. I cook elaborate food that fills a many tens of thousands square foot library with odors more befitting a large, busy restaurant. Our break room kitchen is like a refuge to me from the storms of work-life.
So I try to be respectful of others. I am accepting of the various spaces likewise taken over by my co-workers for all their own inscrutable reasons. I do my best to share the many explicitly common spaces. I turn the other cheek to dishwashing and cooking habits I don't like. I make what peace I can with the minor peccadilloes of using in common a break room and work room with dozens of diverse people. I make every effort to understand or at least look the other way at those habits I would normally find... unpleasant. What's good for the goose...
But if for some reason you have decided to spend half or more of your lunch hour, every single day you work, walking "exercise" laps in our modest sized break room, while reading a junky novel, like you're the Captain of a Frigate on a transoceanic journey in the 1700's, pacing along the paltry deck, while people scatter before you, even though you are not on a ship in the middle of the ocean, and you are not a Captain, and the entire rest of the world is available to you for all your pacing and walking pleasure, all I can really say to you is:
"Seriously, what is your fucking problem!"
It's not a question.