I was on a conference call with a group of approximately five co-workers when we somehow got off topic and started discussing recent promotion announcements. Jokingly, I made the comment that I obviously need to figure out who’s sleeping with who so that I could get a promotion as well. One of my co-workers spoke up, saying, “Don’t you know the right person to sleep with? Rumor has it we’ll be reading about your promotion next.” I was extremely pissed at her!

I was in the bathroom that my office shares with a few other companies when someone came in and set a bag on the sink. The man then went into one of the stalls and proceeded to unleash some of the foulest smells I’ve ever had the discomfort of being trapped in a room with. A few minutes later, I got a call from our receptionist saying the lunch I’d ordered had arrived. I got to the lobby and there stood the guy, bag in hand… the same bag he’d taken into the bathroom! Why would he take my food into the bathroom??? Yeah, I won’t be ordering from that place again!

I get the feeling you think you’re impressing the heck out of us by talking about your mistress. Believe it or not, a lot of us are married guys who are kind of sickened by your behavior. Worse, you make us accomplices to your lies by constantly bringing your wife to social events and even having us talk to her on the phone. One of these days, someone might just slip and let her know about your not-so-secret life.

SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP – this has become my mantra. Every single day, you chitter and chatter and mumble to yourself from the office next door. I know you know I can hear you, because just as I am about to reach that zen place of ignoring you, you call my name and ask me a stupid question.

Ladies, please don’t take this the wrong way, but man… y’all must be some kinda stupid.

For generations, women were stay-at-home moms who knew that raising a family was a full-time job. Frankly, it was one few men could handle, especially given the non-existent pay and a benefit package that revolved around them receiving flowers, chocolate and paintings made out of macaroni one crappy day in May.

Then someone out there shouted, “Hey… we can have babies, raise them, do the dishes, vacuum the rugs… and have jobs, too! We can do it all!”

 

 

 

I’m pretty sure the instigator was a guy, probably wearing drag, who thought it was worth a try. “Surely,” he probably thought, “they won’t go for this!”

How wrong he was.

The next thing he knew, women were burning their bras and throwing themselves into the workforce willy-nilly, with the man sitting back and thinking, “Geez… life is good. We have an extra income ’cause she works all day, and she still puts dinner on the table every night and takes care of the kids! Sweet!”

But then, things went too far.

Because women started taking their babies into the workplace… and we’re not talking about Bring Your Child To Work Day, but drag-your-kid-along-every-single-damn-day. And of course, what was good for the goose is good for the gander, so soon dads followed suit. Before long, offices across the country began taking on the appearance of Romper Room and the smell of dirty diapers.

 

 

 

Now, before all you mommies and daddies start hyperventilating, we’re not referring to the occasional visits where everyone gets to coo over a co-worker’s adorable child so that the parent can be reassured that their kid ain’t ugly. (Because while no parent will admit it, they all fear that’s the case… and are so desperate for positive reinforcement that they somehow forget all the times they called a child cute to its parents face only to later make unfavorable comparisons to Fidel Castro or Donatella Versace.)

 

 

 

We’re talking about the people who bring their child in on a regular basis, ignoring the pained expressions on those forced to listen to the child cry all afternoon. The women who breastfeed during meetings. The dads who turn a blind eye as their pride and joy knock over trash cans and steal things off desks. The parents who routinely hand off their children to subordinates as if “daycare provider” were part of their job description.

It takes a village to raise a child, but it only takes one unruly kid to disrupt an entire office. And it’s not the child’s fault… after all, if being at the office eight hours a day was fun, they wouldn’t call it work, right?

My office-mate gripes whenever I don’t close the door, but he himself habitually leaves it open behind him, allowing the sonic flotsam of the outeroffice to disrupt my precious thinkamating. I think that’s rude, don’t you?