Freeman
Freeman

I don't like anybody when I first meet them. It's not that I'm not friendly, I'm just not outgoing, social or, well ... OK, I'm not friendly. I fully expected to hate my new career as an office monkey who cuts and pastes documents for engineers' presentations. I also figured I'd hate all my coworkers, too.

And I did.

Although we share a shitty job, it doesn't mean we need to be jerks to each other. I saw the Too-Cool-For-School Ultra-Hipster Gal at a bar, and she completely hid herself from me. Not that it's a big deal, because I have no clue what her name is.

But that was out of the office; I'm talking about inside the office. I spend 40 hours a week with these people. I start getting antsy chilling with my best friend for more than four hours. So here are the people who annoy me the most, in no particular disorder:

First off, there's Barista-Looking Guy. He's never actually done anything to piss me off, he's just better looking than me. I want to be the delight of all the ladies. ME! But he's leaner; sports long, flowing hair; knows how to fix computers; and speaks in that voice that makes every straight female swoon. They laugh at his jokes, comment on his clothes and say nice things behind his back. He sucks.

Next up is the Loud Talker. When she's on the phone, she sounds like a used-car salesman with a bullhorn. It's even worse when she's on speakerphone. Also, her food stinks up the entire cubicle area.

My boss is a mouth breather who gets winded walking from the fridge to his desk.

Then there's the Phantom Jacker, but that's an entirely different column.


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I suppose the coworker I can't stand the most is Miss Brilliant of the Cultured Chosen Few. She's too smart for pop culture but an expert in absolutely everything else. You're just a plebian. She went to India for a few weeks, so she's obviously worldlier than you. I feel sorry for her poor keyboard, because even though she's now a Hindu spiritualist, she beats her keys the same way I play air drums.

MBCCF talks in an accent. I don't know what kind of accent it is because she made it up. "I con't belief one such as you would buy pro-duce from a brick-and-mortar grocer. I only go to the finest farmers' markets. Your palate isn't informed enough to understand."

Another sure sign of superiority: She reads only "foreign books" and finishes about 50 a year. I mean, they're translated into English, but they're still foreign. From another country. You know, not American — foreign. Did I mention they're foreign?

What's worse is the noises she makes. I admit I'm no silent staffer: I laugh while reading my own writing, receiving Tinder texts and watching people get hit in the nuts on YouTube. However, her sounds ... yuck. MBCCF moans and groans like she's one of the actresses in my "Special Alone Time Videos." If I could make women gasp like this, they'd write rap songs about me.

So, why is she biting her lip and grunting with ecstasy? She gets off on photos of architecture: ceilings, tile, stairs, window design. Whatever the hell fancy architecture is. I guess I'm just not smart enough to appreciate a good handrail.

That's who I spend time with so I can make rent. Anybody want to email this to one of my coworkers and see what they think about me?

Read more Freeman: coloradodaily.com/columns. Stalk him: comfyconfines.wordpress.com