Office Demons

Tuesday, April 11th, 2012 - I have ranted about nothing, again.

Well I'm recovered from the pestilence of doom and even the demon cough has dissipated enough for me to not splutter every time I talk so I'm thinking that's a win for me!  Please don't argue.  It does not become you.

Today I'm decidedly mellow despite elements of the universe conspiring to make me feel otherwise, such as the security guard at work, who I fantasize about garrotting (usually when he's standing two feet in front of me yakking for fifteen days straight about some mundane information regarding his insurance company or the vibrations from the clutch pedal of his car - both true stories).  The fact he can manage a clutch is a little difficult for me to wrap my mind around since he had a problem one day twisting the lid off a coffee can which turned out to be the pry off kind, favoured by half wits who twist for ten minutes and wonder why nothing is happening.

Also, it was Nescafe.  Bleuuuuuuuuurgh.

Anyway, I've never met a person so full of monotony as this guy.  And I've met ME!  And I've sat through a movie where two French dudes talk about a violin for two hours, so I know boredom.   I can feel my eyes glaze the second he opens his mouth and I desperately wish there was something sharp nearby to stab myself in the ears with, to make it stop.

Today, as I was entering numbers into a database and cursing quietly to myself like a crotchety old geezer with Tourette's, I had to listen to mainstream top 40 radio.  Is it called top 40 radio these days?  I have no idea.  Nor do I care.  The kids probably call it Mega Dance Supah Fresh Tunes or something equally ridiculous and hideous now.  Anyway, it's non-stop, all day, auto tuned nightmares of songs that all sound exactly the same, where a robot is clearly torturing a small animal.  On rotation.  All. Day.  It was making me quite furious because really, who listens to that shit of their own accord other than brain dead morons with fake tans and big hair (and that's just the dudes). No one else seems to mind it.  Me, I scowl a lot and envision myself walking calmly up to it and smashing the shit out of it with a sledgehammer, before smoothing down my hair and calmly returning to my desk.  It annoys me that in an office environment people force their taste on you just in the name of a little office atmosphere.  It's unnecessary and offensive to my ears, which have better taste than to listen to fucking Rhianna all day.  If I wanted to hear unpleasant sounds that make my toes curl, I'd stick pins in the security guy for five hours and listen to him squeal.

There, I've said my piece.

Gosh I'm cross.

Then I came home and had a lamb style veggie burger and all was suddenly right in my tiny, one room world.  Except those burgers made me produce a noise from my bottom that sounded a lot like Alan Rickman whining.  Sort of haughty and nasal.

You're welcome.