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July, 2000

7/5/00

Since I'm not "gainfully employed" at the moment and thus have no current tales of pathetic, eccentric, mean-spirited and just plain odd co-worker behavior, I thought I'd regale all with stories from days past. I'll begin this discourse with my (mis)adventures at Glenfed's Loan Service Center ten years ago (which, blissfully, is no longer extant). Lo, I began my tenure there first as a temp, then as a full-time employee in the Payoffs Department (as evinced by my "mug" shot at right). Working in the Payoffs Department reminded me that the workplace often uses the old high school caste system: you have your popular people, unpopular people and those which defy any categorization. Guess which group I fell into. Go ahead. It's pretty damned obvious.

Anyway. Let me tell you about...

Larry the Wanker. So, I found myself doing boring data entry work in Glenfed's Insurance Department. It was soooo hideously boring that I required music to get me through the day. I brought in my little GE clock radio and set it on a local contemporary jazz station (KIFM, if you're curious). I kept my innocent little clock radio wedged between my computer and the wall. Nice and cozy.

Well. There was a guy, Larry, who sat in the cubicle across from me (I was in an open desk) and to the left. Not long after I began listening to my unassuming little clock radio, Larry approached me to complain that he could "hear" my radio and that the music was "annoying" him. Please. There was no way that asshole could hear ANYTHING from my freaking radio from where he sat. I mean, I had the volume so low, I could barely hear it. Jeez, the sharp tapping sound as I typed on my keyboard was louder -- should I have stopped doing that? (Hmmm, wait a minute...sounds like a good idea...hmmm). Plus, I had polled my other "neighbors" and they had no problem with it.

So I asked Larry just exactly what he could hear from my innocent little radio. What exactly was it that so disrupted his train of thought, that sent daggers into his eardrums, that rendered him unable to continue in his duties (I'll explain his "duties" further down the column)? WHAT???

Larry rolled his eyes heavenward as if stretching, searching, groping for something to say. Then: "Well, I can hear...the guitars."

"You can hear," I blinked, "rhythm guitars? On a smooth jazz station? Bass guitars, yeah -- but only an occasional rhythm guitar."

"Well," he replied, irritated, "I can hear a whine..."

"You mean," I say, irritated myself, "you can hear these whining guitars above the whooshing sound of the traffic on Vista Sorrento Parkway and the 805 freeway? You're saying that the occasional tinny wail of a guitar is more annoying than the constant whoosh and blare of traffic?" Not to mention the car alarms in the parking lot outside -- which tended to go off a lot.

Larry narrowed his eyes. "Just keep the volume down, okay?"

I glared back. "It's as low as it's gonna go, Larry. I cannot hear dog whistles, okay?"

End of the matter. For the time being. Larry would glower at me from time to time -- but he never complained to the supervisor. Because he knew he'd look like an idiot. Which he was. He just wanted to assert himself. As if he thought he carried a certain amount of authority. Push around a temp. Impotent wimp. Which brings me to Larry's favorite activity during the day...

Larry's primary responsibility was to open, sort and distribute the mail to the Insurance Department. That's it. Cake job, huh? It was. And being the no-brainer job that it was, it left Larry time to please his...oh...his other head. You know what I mean. Yup, Larry spent a portion of each day masturbating. I never witnessed with my own eyes his self-abuse, but I learned from reliable sources of his particular modis operandi. He would stuff his left hand deeply into his pocket and...well...tug at his penis. With his right hand he would open and sort the mail. Pretty good multi-tasker, eh? Like I said, I never actually caught him surreptitiously choking the chicken, but I often noticed how, during certain times of the day, Larry's expression became quite focused. Hmmm.

Eventually, Larry decided to re-assert himself and complained anew about my radio. That was it. By this time I'd learned of his self-abuse activities. I leveled a steely gaze at him and said: "Okay, Larry -- I'll turn my radio off if you promise to stop masturbating at your desk."

That got him. Larry the Wanker turned bright crimson. He didn't think anyone knew. He just swallowed hard, turned and retreated to the sanctuary of his cubicle.

Bet Larry the Wanker wished he'd never complained about my radio, huh?

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