I don't know how hard it is to pronounce "Dan." It doesn't even sound like "Dave" or "David," for that matter. I am not the type of person to stutter or mumble; I feel that I speak clearly and enunciate enough so people know what I'm saying. But still, this "Dave" nonsense has been following me around like a bad groupie (not like the ones Bret Michaels gets on "Rock of Love"). I really have to correct these people before it becomes permanent. I know how some people look like a certain name, but I really don't think I look like a Dave. Maybe more like a Brian or something. And what kills me the most is that I told these people what my name was. A woman even wrote it down and said it out loud, audibly. But when I checked something online, she had wrote in my name in the status line as "David." Ugh. I may start calling these people the wrong name too. Like I said, this job has something new everyday. Like seeing a co-worker in front of me, a miserable man who should have retired years ago but enjoys basking in his misery and bringing everyone else in it, doing stretches at his desk and side bends. All he needed were the leg warmers and the headband.
I have to digress (like I do in all my posts, while seem to digress from relevance daily) and mention bathrooms. All offices are different; but the bathrooms in this place are where legends are born. In the women's room, you have old women spending an unhealthy amount of time at the mirror, fixing a face that said bye-bye to them years ago, while others use the stall and seemingly soundproof it, or go when they hear a noise, similar to Tim Robbins banging the pipe in "Shawshank" when the thunder hit. This woman is the epitome of shy. I mean there's shy, and then there's this woman. Granted, she's over 40, but she acts like a child clutching her mother's leg in public and hiding behind it. She must have been put on display a lot when she was young, because this woman hates to bring any attention to herself whatsoever. She'll hide behind people in photos, walk hunched over and quickly dash through hallways, or stay at her desk hidden behind a stack of papers. It actually comes off as a bit rude. I understand if you don't like to make your presence felt, but this bordered on psychotic. The bathroom thing makes me the most perplexed; it's the only place you have privacy, and you're still freaked out? She also happens to be a huge germophobe, so I wouldn't doubt it if she covers the entire place in toiletpaper or sanitizer and doesn't even sit on the seat. She also happens to wear white and/or plastic gloves around the office. Yes, she is the 2008 version of Howard Hughes. If I see a mysterious jar of something on her desk, I'm calling the health department.
The men's room is even better. You'd think people would be old enough now to treat the bathroom like they treat their houses. Well apparently these people lived like Axl Rose, because this bathroom was filthy. People not flushing after doing their business, clogging the toilet, going all over the urinal like they're watering a lawn. It's disgusting. I walk in there, and the place is seemingly always wet. The floor, the walls, the handles. I don't know why there's so much moisture but it's like walking into a damn bathhouse, minus the naked men in towels (which I wouldn't doubt happening soon). I dread touching anything in there for fear of getting the flesh eating virus. And people's habits in there are so weird too. You have the guy who talks to you while you go, or looks over at you mid-stream. The guy who touches you while you go on the shoulder like you're in a "Hands Across America" singalong. The others think their member is a garden hose and let it spray everywhere (thank God for those walls in between). Overall, I hate having to use the bathroom, especially if I have to drop the Cosby kids off at the pool (take a guess what that means). Now one of the doors is broken, so when you go, it likes to pop open at inopportune times. I have to either start using another bathroom or just holding it. While constipation is never cool, it's gotta be better than that shithole (pun fully intended).
It's the End of the World As We Know It: My boss coming over to my desk, exclaiming "I'm being nosy," touching my peanut butter snack cakes, and inquiring as to what they tasted like, etc. At least she was honest.
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