I'm having a bad day.
A really, really bad day.
For lots of reasons that are all work related.
And mostly because I have to deal with "that guy."
Which, in my case, as a guy who prefers to date women (well, at least this wonderful woman, who's my love ... the rest of you ... sorry), it's a good thing he's not in my dating pool.
Unfortunately, he's in my workplace.
Which makes me understand and appreciate workplace violence.
And you know this guy ... you have him in your office, too:
This person I'm talking about is the guy who's always in everyone's business like he's a friend ... but he's not. He's a leech. A parasite. And quite frankly on my list of people who I may actually hate. And I don't hate often. But he's getting there.
He's "that guy:"
The guy who asks for your professional assistance, says he'll pay you, and when you give him a bill he never does. Until the next time he needs your professional assistance on a home project. Then he won't pay you for that one until the next time.
THAT guy. And he owes me $20 that I'll never see. I know that. And honestly, I like the hatred that $20 has bought me on his ass. Really. Money well spent.
And I'm sure you hate "that guy" in your office, too, because he's the type of dickhead that inhabits all workplaces.
His given first name is Mike.
We call him "Fucking (last name removed)."
If his current course of behavior remains, he'll soon be called "The late fucking (last name removed).
So as I mentioned in a since-deleted blog, I've basically worked my way out of a job here at my present place of employment by being that damn good at what I do.
All the machines work, the barcode scanners work, the network works, the mail works and most of the users have learned that the guy who was here before me was a big dumb fuck who made a lot of busy work for himself, because in 15 months I've gotten this place squared away and on the road to self-support on all but the most heinous computer issues. For that, they'll have to go to headquarters, like the rest of the company does. Sorry 'bout your luck.
But yeah, I got it all squared away and, yeah, worked my way out of a job.
When? Still not known. Could be over on the 31st, could be another month, but it's coming. And when it does, I'll deal with it.
Until then, I don't need the constant reminder from the office dickhead.
Yeah, back to "That guy."
Yesterday (that's Wednesday for the timeline), he walks into my office, uninvited, and says with not even a hello:
"So next week's your last week here, huh?"
Me, being me, immediately plays dumb: "Really? Wow. I haven't heard anything. You know more than me."
So he starts backpedaling with the "Oh, well, I heard it might happen, but it could happen to all of us the way things are going here."
(For the record, he's right, but it's because this company was purchased by the company I worked at in Pittsburgh, and this company here has failed to assimilate to the parent company, because their way is what got them into bankruptcy court so it must work, right?
Wrong. They need to step it up, and learn Borg-like, that resistance is futile. You will do it the new way or you will be fired/laid-off. And the way the union workers here acting, they're all going to be unemployed soon, and take the one or two people that are trying down with them, but I digress.)
So I look at him with a dismissive look and say "Well, Ohio is a right-to-work state. Since we're not in the union, we could all be gone tomorrow without a notice. That's business sometimes. But I haven't heard anything about my job, good or bad, just the fact it's on the block like everyone else is, but it seems like you know more than I do."
And he looks at me, raises his eyebrows and leaves.
So then this morning, about 10:30, he walks in again, without a hello, and says, "So, you hear anything yet about when your last day is?"
DUDE ... YOU'RE CLOSE TO DEATH is what I screamed in my brain.
My mouth, on the other hand, said, "No. But if it happens, it happens. I have skills. I'm employable. I'm not worried. I take it one day at a time."
And again walked out without another word.
So my office buddy Maria feels about the same way about him that I do ... and I wouldn't piss on him if he were on fire. I think she might, just because she's that freaky. Or maybe that's only in my mind. ANYWAY ...
I fire off the following email to her:
Subject: If you see blood on the window of my door
Body: Or hear loud screaming and bones breaking, odds are it's (last name deleted).
AGAIN, today, he came in and asked me if I heard anything about when my last day is.
If (or is that when?) it happens again, he's going to get an earful from me with the following facts:
Yes, I'm aware my job is being eliminated.
You need to know it's none of your business.
Yes, it's stressful.
No, I don't appreciate you constantly asking about it.
Yes, it sucks.
No, I don't need to be reminded of the fact that a decision hasn't been made yet.
Do not ask me about it again.
If and when a change is made it will be communicated from upper management.
If you have questions I suggest you discuss that with your supervisor and the acting plant manager.
If you wish, you can call my supervisor, I'll dial the phone.
If you have a business-related question or need computer assistance, I suggest you dial the help desk in Pittsburgh.
If you have a question about your home computer, I suggest you go fuck yourself.
(Sorry, does that sound pissy?)
So short of literally killing this guy ... if he asks me tomorrow he's going to get that earful. Because I'm not his friend. I'm not his buddy, I'm not his work colleague. He's on my list.
And that's not a good place to be.