miss vogue, if you're nasty!
Where I currently work, we deal with customers at random intervals; some days are busier than others, of course. My coworker, ted, has this annoying propensity to shout random crap loudly from across the room (and randomly interject an annoying faux ghetto patois). This happens ALL DAY.
Yesterday, Lindsay and I were with members and Ted began to shout for Lindsay for some godforsaken reason. Every time he shouted her name from across the room, he used some irritatingly shitty variation of her name. This is exactly how it sounded, minus a few more annoying variations.
Lindsay! (pause) Liiiiiiindsey! Linzay!! Linzeeeeee!!! LaLaLa lindsey!
Since she was with a member, she couldn't just shout for him to shut up. When she was done, however, she went tyrannosaurus-rex shit on him. It warmed the cuckolds of my heart because I've wanted to do that since the day I met him!!! Plus, he was so hurt/embarrassed/whatever that he wouldn't come to our side of the room all day. Yeah! I didn't have to hear about his eternal quest to find a Jeniffer Lopez lookalike to sate his pubescent desires. Thank heavens.
I realize that I give off a bizarre bourgeois surfer vibe, (it's the "dude"s that throw people off), but it's not that uncommon. And I have really toned it down for work, but a "dude" or a "word" skips out every now and then. It's not a big deal to anyone at all, except for Ted. He actually jumped on his chair this morning and was like, "Claire, dude. Hang ten, dude!" as he fake surfed on his rolling chair. Please fuck off.
He is so insanely hyper that it defies all natural laws of attention disorders and so on, It's as if he's constantly mainlining sugary byproducts, freebasing pixy stix, or maintaining a steady IV of assorted stimulants. Whenever he becomes too annoying to deal with, I'll bust out with some meaningless non-sequitur and exit stage left (i.e. "did someone put acid in your spam" or "did you have some crack with your cornflakes this morning?")
He recently christened himself, "GQ (the men's magazine)," because he has been deluded into thinking that he has some sort of hottt style. He's like two years late for the lame metrosexual look/lifestyle, yet he wants everyone to call him, "GQ," now!! Fashion time warp unnoticed and notwithstanding, he still insists that his nickname be GQ. It's probably more shocking that some people actually call him this (I don't, of course. I marginally worry that I will call him 'tard one day instead of Ted.) Further multiplying the lameness factor is the fact that he has back issues of GQ pretentiously displayed all over his desk!
He keeps asking when all of us are going to hang out and go to various clubs in Ybor, so we can "drop it like it's hot" and/or "shake it like a salt shaker." I seriously have to prevent myself from dry heaving.
I only write in here when I want to bitch about something. : ( I should do shiny, happy entries or something.
Yesterday, Lindsay and I were with members and Ted began to shout for Lindsay for some godforsaken reason. Every time he shouted her name from across the room, he used some irritatingly shitty variation of her name. This is exactly how it sounded, minus a few more annoying variations.
Lindsay! (pause) Liiiiiiindsey! Linzay!! Linzeeeeee!!! LaLaLa lindsey!
Since she was with a member, she couldn't just shout for him to shut up. When she was done, however, she went tyrannosaurus-rex shit on him. It warmed the cuckolds of my heart because I've wanted to do that since the day I met him!!! Plus, he was so hurt/embarrassed/whatever that he wouldn't come to our side of the room all day. Yeah! I didn't have to hear about his eternal quest to find a Jeniffer Lopez lookalike to sate his pubescent desires. Thank heavens.
I realize that I give off a bizarre bourgeois surfer vibe, (it's the "dude"s that throw people off), but it's not that uncommon. And I have really toned it down for work, but a "dude" or a "word" skips out every now and then. It's not a big deal to anyone at all, except for Ted. He actually jumped on his chair this morning and was like, "Claire, dude. Hang ten, dude!" as he fake surfed on his rolling chair. Please fuck off.
He is so insanely hyper that it defies all natural laws of attention disorders and so on, It's as if he's constantly mainlining sugary byproducts, freebasing pixy stix, or maintaining a steady IV of assorted stimulants. Whenever he becomes too annoying to deal with, I'll bust out with some meaningless non-sequitur and exit stage left (i.e. "did someone put acid in your spam" or "did you have some crack with your cornflakes this morning?")
He recently christened himself, "GQ (the men's magazine)," because he has been deluded into thinking that he has some sort of hottt style. He's like two years late for the lame metrosexual look/lifestyle, yet he wants everyone to call him, "GQ," now!! Fashion time warp unnoticed and notwithstanding, he still insists that his nickname be GQ. It's probably more shocking that some people actually call him this (I don't, of course. I marginally worry that I will call him 'tard one day instead of Ted.) Further multiplying the lameness factor is the fact that he has back issues of GQ pretentiously displayed all over his desk!
He keeps asking when all of us are going to hang out and go to various clubs in Ybor, so we can "drop it like it's hot" and/or "shake it like a salt shaker." I seriously have to prevent myself from dry heaving.
I only write in here when I want to bitch about something. : ( I should do shiny, happy entries or something.