A few thoughts on office etiquette...

December, huh? I don't have any good excuses, save the fact that the people who read this blog are people I communicate with on a normal basis.

Since my last post, I started a new job - one I really enjoy. I wasted so many years in jobs that I hated, I had no idea that it was possible to find a job that didn't make me contemplate driving off of a bridge. The irony that my new job is not exactly in accounting, but rather a badass combo of accounting and technology (oh, somewhere in SC my grad school systems professor is laughing his ass off) is not lost on me. A year ago, if you would've told me that my economy-induced expulsion from public accounting would randomly land me in a job working for one of the world's largest financial institution's tech department, I would have told you to put down the pinot and sober the fuck up. Thank you God, there is life outside of billing my day in six minute increments and being expected to work every Saturday.

While I love my new digs, I just want to point something out to my peeps in Cube Land, Corporate America. You are working in a cube...in actuality, you do not have walls. When I walk by your cube, I can see you pick your nose, Guy Across the Aisle. I beg of you, stop it. STOP IT! BTW, I can also see you if you are scratching your nether-regions. Oh, and one more thing Lady to my Left...pick up the damn phone. The fight your teenagers are having over who controls the remote doesn't warrant use of the speaker phone. I swear to God, if those were my kids (after all, we're all perfect parents before we have kids), I'd tell them to figure it out or fight to the death. And while I think it just oh-so-cute that you then appear in my doorway and apologize for your progeny's ill exploits, you are just further annoying me. Pick up your effing phone. And my final complaint....Dearest Guy Three Rows Away....for Christ's sake, please do not bring in food that stinks up the whole damn floor. I like Mexican food as much as the next person, but I walked out of the office today smelling like a bordello in Tijuana. And as much as I love my job, it's just not as much fun as prostitutes and tequila...so if I'm going to get called out by The Husband for having an alternative lifestyle, I want to have a good story to back it up.