Posted by John
In no way is this intended to be a comprehensive list, it’s simply a list of things that I’ve recently seen at work that I wish I hadn’t, and I think you’ll agree:
Chest Hair – This almost goes without saying, but of course I’ll say it anyway. One of the kids at work is in a band so on casual Fridays he likes to dress up like a rock and roll star to pretend his real job isn’t working in a shitty office for 40 hours each week. That means lots of necklaces, leather wristbands, and on more than one occasion, a rock star Affliction shirt with two too many buttons unbuttoned, showing off his less-than-manly chest hair. The first time I saw it I almost threw up like, “Dude, come on; it looks like you have a daddy-long-legs crawling around in there. Can you like button that up or wax that shit or something? I had chest hair like that when I was 7. Grow up.”
It’s worse when it’s like your boss’ Burt Reynolds chest hair or some shit. Chest hair stopped being manly in 1978, which is probably the last time your boss looked in the mirror.
Ankles – This might seem obscure until I put this mental image in your head: You’re sitting there in a meeting when the 50-something year old dude in the faded Dockers and scuffed up loafers sitting next to you leans way back in his chair and kicks his one leg up onto the knee of his other leg because old folks can’t sit in chairs without crossing their legs, and as he’s sitting there with his pant leg, that is too short to begin with, riding up to about mid calf and the worn out black dress sock that lost its elasticity about 8 years ago is wallowing somewhere down around the top of his shoe, all you can see is that pasty white ankle flesh that hasn’t seen the light of day in 3 decades. It’s even worse when you can see all those disgusting blue varicose veins all over the ankles. Obviously this example involves a man, but women are not exempt either. If anyone is looking down at your lower legs right now and it reminds you of directions you printed off from Mapquest, you need to cover up those ankles and those disgusting veins.
Wedding Photos – I guess it’s ok to have pictures of you and your spouse in your office or cube but if one of those pictures is from your wedding it’s so goddamn depressing and can mean only a handful of things: 1) After 20 years and three kids your spouse is now hideously ugly and you only want to remember him or her from the last day you actually found them attractive; 2) That or you want to remember what it was like the last time someone found you attractive.
“Oh, sweet picture, Bob. Was this your wedding day? That’s really neat. What was this, like a barbeque themed wedding or something? You look good in this photo; I didn’t think I could imagine you with hair…”
Hot Dogs – Certainly this one is very obscure but I can assure you it’s true. I recently had to relocate desks to a cubicle just outside the office kitchenette. Just the other day I was seated in my new cube at 9:45 AM when I detected the unmistakable scent of hot dog. No shit. I stood up immediately to see if my olfactory was deceiving me just in time to see someone emerge from the kitchenette with a goddamn hotdog in their hand. A hot dog! At 9:30 in the goddamn morning? If you start your day with a hot dog, where does it go from there? I can tell you this – wherever the day does go it’s going to pause for about 30 minutes in the shitter. No question about that.
That reminds me of the time at my old job when a woman had finally earned her US citizenship having lived and worked in the country for more than a decade, so her department threw a congratulations-on-your-naturalization-hot-dog-party for her. I’m not making that shit up. They wanted to celebrate her citizenship in the most American way they could think of. Nothing says welcome to the United States like some pig innards boiled to perfection followed by two days of indescribable indigestion. God bless Oscar Mayer!
That also reminds me how the wife and I were out with some friends a few weekends ago at a new restaurant/bar in town. It was a long wait for a table so we bellied up to the bar for some drinks. As 30-something-year-old breast-less dudes, my buddy and I had to increase our chances of getting the bartender’s attention so we had to flank either side of a couple sitting at the bar eating their dinner. Admittedly I was standing uncomfortably close to the female in the couple but I didn’t have much choice and she took notice.
“You look bored,” she said to me.
“I’m sorry?”
“You look bored.”
No, I really enjoy fucking standing here trying to get this slapdick bartender’s attention, “Oh, no, I’m just trying to get a drink while we’re waiting for a table.”
“Well, the food is really good here so it’s worth the wait.”
I found it extremely odd that she was talking to me at all because I certainly wasn’t projecting the need or desire to be having a conversation. I don’t think she was hitting on me largely because she was with another dude and largely because at my age and marital status random females don’t talk to me anymore basically because my cubicle is covered in wedding photos. I figured ultimately she must have been projecting her boredom onto me. Still, it was odd for her to be speaking to me at all.
“Oh really, do you recommend anything on the menu?” I asked.
“Well, the pizza is great, as is the hamburger, and I really like the salmon and the tuna wrap…”
“I’m sorry, do you work and/or live here? Didn’t this place just open?” Clearly I wasn’t hitting on her.
“No, but I do live nearby.”
“I see,” I said, “Well is there anything on the menu you wouldn’t recommend?”
Without hesitation, “The hot dog. It’s not very good at all.”
Really? The fucking hot dog isn’t good? I’m shocked. “Well, I haven’t eaten a hot dog since 1997, so I wasn’t going to order it, but thanks for the warning.”
“What???” she said, beside herself, “You don’t eat hot dogs? You must not get wasted.”
“I’m sorry?” I said, confused, “I thought we were talking about hot dogs. What does getting wasted have to do with hot dogs?”
“You’ve never been wasted at 3 AM craving a hot dog?”
It’s at this exact moment in the conversation that I knew the conversation was over. IF this girl had been hitting on me, which I don’t think she was, in a mere 30 seconds she told me she can’t cook, she still routinely gets wasted in her mid-30’s, and she has an insatiable jones for hot dogs. The conversation was over.
“Just last weekend,” she continued, “my girlfriend and I were wasted at like 2 AM and we were SOOO hungry so we went to the Exxon station for some hot dogs. It was SOOO good. You’ve never done that?”
Fucking-A lady, why would you admit to anyone that you ate a hot dog from and Exxon Mobile gas station? I’m surprised the fumes from your colon haven’t escaped your mouth and eaten the flesh off my face over the course of this conversation. Suddenly I’m not hungry anymore. Ever.
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