For the Crazy Middle-Aged Office Lady
First, your annoying screensaver that makes little laughing baby noises makes me want to smash your computer to bits. It is awful enough that each time I have to walk away from my soul-stealing cube I have to see blooming flowers and babies on your big screen, but no, I get to hear the gurgling and laughing noises made by your computer when you're away. You're away a lot. When I politely asked you to take down that aquarium one with the fish that made the loud bubbling noises, the point wasn't for you to replace it with something worse. Now that ever other old cow in the office has made much to do about the fucking cooing baby one I have zero hope that will ever go away.
Next, there's your constant barrage of phone calls to your husband concerning the welfare and whereabouts of your deranged teen son. I'd probably be doing all I could to stay away from home and hitting the bottle and doobie pretty hard if I were your kid. Talking about it all the time in loud phone calls to your husband gets the hairy old cow on the other side of you to stand and commiserate on the decline of youth today, and stops both of you from working, as well as prevents me from doing any actual thinking because I am listening to you two bitch or you bitch to your husband.
You microwave leftover tuna casserole and eat it at your desk. Damn, that shit stinks. Since you use your lunch time to surf your christian and "forum" websites, I get to smell your nasty lunch. Lucky me and everyone else sitting around you.
Speaking of your christianity and the landmark forum crap, please stop trying to recruit me and fellow cube-dwelling slaves to your cult shit. We don't want to pay $$$ to go to some fucking brain-bending seminars, we don't want to hear about how much more enlightened you are, and we don't want to hear about how you're always labeled a "giver." Fuck off. No, I don't care that christ died for my sins. I am here to do a job which finances my free time, not be converted. I told you this before, and to avoid me hauling you to HR about it, now you talk loudly to your hairy cow friend to make sure I can hear about your extreme bliss. Praise Geezus on your own fucking time.
Cheap perfume really doesn't improve the air quality of our office too much, unless you've microwaved tuna that day. Spraying yet more of it on your bloated body in the middle of the day at your cube is just plain evil. When I was over here sneezing, and asked you to stop, I didn't mean just for that particular day, I meant, don't spray that ever at your desk. Go to the bathroom. Geez.
We all love when Excel gives you fits because after ten years of using this program you've still somehow not mastered the art of page formatting so your printouts are evenly spaced. No, I won't show you again. Perhaps your HR friend will send you to yet another class for this issue, because wow is that a great way to spend company money. I do find your handwritten notebook listing locations of files on your computer very amusing. It is especially amusing to know that you earn far more than me for doing far less actual work.
I wear my headphones so I don't have to overhear you talking all the time. Kudos to you for bringing up the subject of headphones in our last "Team Time" meeting and complaining you thought wearing headphones did not help team collaboration. You are the undeniable master of passive aggressive office tactics, and frankly I honestly didn't realize my input on your cat's vomiting problems was so fucking valuable.
Thanks for the hand-painted water bottles you fashioned for our entire team. Yes, I love being told by our supervisor to please start using these when we get our water. Nothing heartens me more than to belly up to the water cooler and fill a flowery water bottle with a hand-painted cat on it. Really, thanks.
And finally, thanks for being the pariah and always coming to work when you're sick. I like that I can reliably depend on you to show up with a cold or the flu and pass it along to all of us because you are so loyal and don't want to use the four years of accumulated sick time you have. How else would I be able to keep up with the constantly changing viral environment?
Man, I wish there were more open jobs. I am too chickenshit to slit my wrists, but bitch, you make me fantasize constantly about how good that might be. I think of doing it in front of you, and how that would fuck you up, but I don't want to be a story you tell your hairy middle-aged friends over glasses of boxed wine with ice cubes. Oh no.
Whew. I feel like just let off a big load.