Remember last week I referenced an old colleague that ran around the office screaming, quit his job, and then stomped back to his cubicle for an errant jar of oregano?
I was inspired by Cecelia to write little more about this tale, as her post about office mate “Lily Tomlin” allegedly being able to shift the direction of the wind, had me in tears of laughter. Who hasn’t worked with a complete nut job and lived to tell the tale?
So let me tell you about an old co-worker code named George Costanza, because yes, that comparison is perfection.
George was hired because he was best friends with THE BIG BOSS. So we had to find some projects for George. We were told George had stellar technical skills (such as loading an MP3 player) and was an experienced manager. The only part that might have been true was he could load an MP3 device, and why this was considered a valuable technical skill still has me guessing.
What George was REALLY good at was being a weasel. He completely f**ked up the first project he worked on, but that didn’t stop George from getting a window office. (Supposedly because he bugged the crap out of other people near him). George used to stare intently at the rest of his colleagues when discussing projects, and he would say things like “well, that’s a real lot of work. I’m a manager“. HELLO George, we all have to put the noses to the grindstone and wear several hats, and preferably that hat isn’t the one the little monkey with the organ grinder wears. Although it could have been a tiny clown hat in his case.
George used to stray from the office for several hours each afternoon, to parts unknown. Which was truly a pleasure, because his mere presence could make your skin crawl, and the rest of us considered his absence like separation of church and state, or in office lingo, really sane people versus freaking lunatics.
George had a habit of playing up to all the younger girls on the team, and when his 5 foot nothing frame sauntered down the office aisle it would send the lovely ones scattering like cockroaches as he attempted to divulge every boring detail of his inane life. He loved ingratiating himself with recently hired folks in the office, where he would proudly welcome the new kid on the block by blurting out the name of the local electric company that runs the grid. Oh so close George, but we don’t work for the power company!
George’s office was a real treat. He had prepared flow charts in Powerpoint which were plastered all over the walls, because he said he said it helped him to visualize “processes and procedures”. Plus waste time. He also had an extensive collection of spices and antacid medication on display, because hey, why not have your office be a kitchen and a bathroom at the same time? It sure wasn’t a place of work!
Here was my favorite part about George. He thought he was a fabulous wordsmith. A writing genius. An untapped talent that had not yet been discovered. And he was going to write TV shows and movies and hang with say, the Spielbergs of the world. Seriously.
And he lovingly sent some of his favorite tales and writing samples to my friend, who promptly shared them with me.
May I give you a short sample?
Perhaps the bushes as they inched ever closer to the precious water flowing nearby…ever flowing. It must flow, and flow even more; and those closest to it desire nothing more than to drink their
The rocks on the other side were not very happy about that. It was sparse and dry in the land of the rocks. Dry and bitter. The water, so close, as its rapids careened down upon its winding path that began high up in the mountains—three Olympian Gods lost in the background of a more enlightened age.
Were the rocks without any recourse? Did they not have a voice?
Yes they did! For when the land is too much occupied by such usurpers, nature has a way of balancing out the inequities between the haves and the have-nots. Do the bushes listen? Not as much as they should. And whom do they answer to? The trees above call to them below. They beg them not to drink up all of the water.
Yes, please run to the bathroom so as to not pee your pants. And I’ll continue.
So cut to several short months later, when management finally figures out George is a LOSER. George is about to get fired but then loses it himself. George stomps all over the office screaming at everyone and telling us how much he f*cking hates us. But then he pauses dramatically and says, “except for you, Joyce. And maybe you, too, Cindy”.
And with a flourish of his oregano, George was finally gone.
Within minutes, the HR chick comes by and asks I’m OK. To which I replied “he was the worst co-worker I ever had. He was incompetent, lazy, and trust me, I could not be happier”. Then I called my other co-worker at home and told her what she had missed out on, and we did a little jig in celebration.
And to this day, I’m still waiting to see George’s writing credits up on the silver screen. I suspect the only screen in which he will see his credits is his very own computer screen.
And as a Monday bonus, take a little trip over to a site about the worst help desk technician ever, The Chronicles of George. He makes my George look like a genius !