Things That Burn My Biscuits: Workplace Interactions

Welcome to another surly edition of Things That Burn My Biscuits, the series in which I expound on all of the small, mostly benign things in life that make me want to start throwing air punches and never stop. “Workplace Interactions” may seem like a very narrow topic, but according to the spreadsheet I made, it has been the cause of 90% of all my trivial rage (the remaining 10% being caused by superfluous spreadsheets). More precisely, if I take the product of my rage (cells A8:A37) and divide it by the triviality of the source (cells H4,I7,J2,K5), I have enough acute pettiness to rage-paint the Sistine Chapel mural on a grain of rice.

I generally get along with my coworkers, but I find much of my day is spent trying to minimize interaction. Either I’m a reclusive, crotchety employee, or you’ll empathize with these selections and validate the temperature of my biscuits. Or maybe we’re both crotchety employees. You decide.

Morning Greetings

Let me start out by saying I do not hate all small talk, and I realize its significance in human interaction. If you are a friend and we are making small talk, chances are I genuinely enjoy our banter and I'm interested in your response, and I am not secretly fantasizing about poking you in the eyes like one of the Three Stooges. But at work I don't feel it is necessary to have a long morning ritual wherein we volley empty greetings, because I see you five times a week. A simple “hello” or “good morning” or some sort of throat clearing grunt/mumble hybrid are all perfectly acceptable as an acknowledgment that yes, I am arriving for work and you have spotted me.

My boss is the worst offender of this. Just about every morning we go over the same unnecessary and vacant exchange.

Word. For. Word.

Boss: Good morning, Nate.
Me: Good morning, REDACTED.
Boss: How are you?
Me: I am fine. How are you?
Boss: Lovely, thanks for asking.

Sure, it seems innocuous, but over time the rote recital becomes Chinese water torture. I approached the problem scientifically by altering the variables. I tried changing the subject. Steered back to the greeting. I tried not saying 'how are you'. Sarcastically replies that he is lovely, thanks for asking. I tried replacing 'I am fine' with a less embellished 'ok' or 'alright'. Wants to know why I am not fine. So, what I've learned is that THE GOOD MORNING SCRIPT WILL BE DELIVERED AS WRITTEN AND THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT. Drip, drip, drip.

Others are just naturally excited in the morning and greet me with an exuberance that, frankly, I don't warrant. I'm sure I look and act like I just woke up 5 minutes before I walked in the door, which I did, despite the fact that my commute is 20 minutes long. Still, I muster my most enthusiastic veneer of a response, which comes out as an indecipherable mumblegrunt.

“Good m-unghfdb#phw%!”

Break Room

The break room should be a refuge from the storm, a respite from work and all its responsibilities and everyone who might be a part of those responsibilities. It should be a place free from all thought, where a workman or worklady can silently play mind-numbing iPhone games while enjoying a gas station turkey sandwich. Instead, it is often the room where the moment I wrap my face around said sandwich, a flock of coworkers descend and loudly talk about reports while they use the microwave to heat up last week’s sauerkraut and tuna fish soup.

I always approach the break room stealthily, like a lion stalking a gazelle or a particularly vigilant turkey sandwich. If I so much as hear a rustling of napkins I immediately freeze and then scurry back to my cubicle with my tail between my legs. A few minutes later I will sneak up again, peek one eye around the corner, and, if spotted, proceed to mumble something about a plastic fork, shuffle through some drawers, then go sit in my car. I’m not allowed to eat at my desk, even though its horizontal ledge is perfectly suited for keeping my turkey sandwich from falling on the ground. But that’s a bit of rage for another day.

“Turkpf!vym Sandp&kch”

Office Parties

I’m all for a good time. In fact, my nickname in college was Party Pants, a moniker I gave myself and told absolutely nobody about. But being pressured to kill a precious, precious Saturday night with people you already see too much of during the week does not a party make. Sure, you can skip the event, but you are most certainly being judged. And when it comes time for a raise, you better believe it will show up on your evaluation.

“ZzZzZzzzzz…”

Sales Calls

Sales calls embody everything I dislike about workplace interactions, because they are so disingenuous. Both sides have an unstated but obvious agenda. The salesman wants to talk me into padding his paycheck, and I want to bang my head on my desk until I can no longer hear his voice. But he can’t just say “Hello, would you like to indirectly give me lots of money? I have several addictions to feed at home,” and I just can’t say “I have a Spice Girls song stuck in my head, and I’m going to tune you out until the appropriate time that I can hang up and not be considered an offensive crapweasel.”

Often I am on the other side of that coin, however. I strongly believe in being courteous and helpful when dealing with people. I really do. But I don’t like being forced to be saccharine, such as when I answer my office line “It’s a great day at COMPANY REDACTED!” I don’t feign enthusiasm very well. I’m certain I haven’t tricked anyone into thinking it was a great day, and they might wonder if they’ve actually reached the right company, and they may even question what they previously thought about article adjectives and prepositions.

“If you wanna be my lover, ghb$nz mmg h^jnqew hnnnugn…
zig a zig ahhhhh!”

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Well, I think I've outdone myself in surliness. Is it too late to state that I consider myself a people person, it's just that I value genuine human exchange and the occasional "me" time? Do you think my biscuits are rightfully burned? If so, I hope we can work together someday. Just, uhhh, don't say good morning to me, stay out of the break room, and don't invite me to any parties. See? I'm easy to get along with!