Dear napping coworker,

Being able to take a nap in your car on your lunch break is pretty sweet. I say that because I do it myself from time to time. You'll also notice that I park in the far end of the parking garage everyday because I know it to be a cherry napping spot, should I need it. If you're going to join the napping club, could you at least show some respect and properly pull into ONE parking space? Parking across 2 spaces like you just pulled in after a late night at the pub makes you look like a selfish bitch.

Suck it,
King Napper

Banality

Just overheard at noon in the busy, company kitchen:
"It looks like lunchtime!"
No shit. How can you tell?

This is a good example of all the mundane shit I hear in conversation around my office. This also reminds me of why I don't typically engage in casual conversation with my coworkers. Sure, I may come off as an asshole, but I truly don't care about the personal lives of most of my coworkers because, well, they're boring.

Another bit of triteness I can do without is when, every Friday morning, one of my coworker says to me in a sing-song way, "It's Fri-day!"

Nooooo sheee-it, Mr. Obvious. I know it's Friday. Everyone knows it's Friday. Are you implying that you're about to cut loose for the weekend? I doubt that. Nothing awesome is going to result from you tending to your bratty kids for the next 2 days. I am only interested in your weekend if it's on par with a Tucker Max story. See ya on Monday.

Unsolicited Advice

Let me preface this story by stating that I don't care for unsolicited advice - especially when I'm working out at the gym. I'm always wearing earbuds and rarely make eye contact with anyone. I think this body language clearly states that I want to be left alone.

Tonight, at the gym, a young man with a crustache and tattoos approached me and said, "Excuse me, sir, are you going for strength or conditioning?"

"Actually, neither. I'm doing rehab exercises because my rotator cuff is acting up. But thank you."

"Oh, well because some people do 20 reps at one weight and think they can..."

"Right, well I've been doing these exercises for several years now, so I got it. Thanks..."

Now, kindly fuck off!

But thanks for calling me "sir."

I Am Not Your Help Document

A select group of my coworkers can't think for themselves. Perhaps it's not so much a "can't" as a "won't." Perhaps they are plagued by a laziness even more severe than my own. Whatever the case may be, I get asked a lot of questions that, in my opinion, could easily be answered if said person were to try finding the answer herself. Microsoft products have large help sections. They may not always be the easiest or most intuitive things to use, but if you're a master over your patience then you will eventually find your answer. Or, just look it up on the interwebs. I'm not hoarding all the help information from every application I've ever used. I am not the gatekeeper of knowledge in our company. So, for the sake of my sanity and your mortality, spend some time trying to solve the problem yourself before asking for my help.

No Candy Lane

I just returned from picking up lunch at Biggs. During my 30 minutes of aimlessly wandering around the store, this sign caught my eye:

This was the first time I had seen a sign such as this, and I was curiously amused, to say the least. Unfortunately, the few customers in the store were sans children, so I wasn't able to witness this checkout aisle in action. As I approached the aisle, I expected to see the usual boxes of candy replaced with magazines, batteries, hand grenades, etc. Instead, I saw this:

Ok, so it's obviously not the same cavity-causing fare as in adjacent aisles, but it's pretty goddamn close. As a discerning adult, I know that these are just expensive candy bars that taste shitty. A little kid isn't going to know that. They know that the checkout aisle is where the candy is. "There's shit here that looks like candy. The boxes look the same. The wrappers are shiny. I can reach most of this stuff. Score."

I also don't think that "Family Friendly" is an appropriate description for the aisle. If it were something like this:

Except that I would change it to read "Attention SHITTY Parents. NO CANDY LANE." Spare me the comments about this being a brilliant idea for keeping a parent's sanity. If you can't control your kids (or your own candy cravings), then may I suggest you hang up your cell phone, put down the mocha latte purchased from the store's coffee bar, and punch yourself in the face.

This Band Sucks

My brother and I often meet my parents for Friday and Saturday happy hour at a local bar that has always tried too hard, but failed miserably, at being awesome. By bar standards, this place is dead until about the time happy hour ends at 8, and I kind of like it that way. The handful of happy hour people are mostly regulars I know, so I have free reign over the jukebox and pool table.

Part of the reason that this places fails at being awesome is that it books more crappy bands than good. Generally, I could care less. I usually head out of there by 8 or 9, anyway, to avoid the influx of douche that will take up residence for the rest of the evening. It's not uncommon for a band to set up during happy hour, and occasionally the band will tune their instruments and warm up a bit. If the band is good, no worries. If the band sucks, then my happy hour is less than awesome.

During one happy hour, a band set up shortly after the bar opened at 6. This band was not good. In fact, they were quite terrible. So terrible that they needed to warm up for over an hour, only to return and warm up again 2 hours later before they were to perform. Any good song (i.e. song I actually liked) they played was done poorly. The money I put in the jukebox was wasted, it was too loud to carry on a conversation, and the happy hour vibe was "suck."

By the time the band was done warming up, and happy hour was almost over, I decided some retribution was in order. I, in my drunken state, decided that unplugging as many cables as possible from the closest amp would do. The setup in this bar is such that with the stage being raised and up against the general bar area, leaning over to pull a few chords was rather easy. The unplugging process took less than a minute and I kept an open eye to avoid being caught. (Not that I cared about being caught since I wasn't damaging their equipment.) My only regret is that I didn't stick around long enough to see if my handy-work caused a truly embarrassing scene, or if it resulted in some minor confusion that was quickly resolved before they launched into their shitty first set.

Bed-Head Twins

It appears that Russell Brand's trademark bed-head hairstyle has even worked its way into the far reaches of the IRL (that's Indy Racing League for all you normal folks who are smart enough to avoid motorsports.) Danica should stick with the GoDaddy stylist(s).