Payphones vs. Bathroom stalls...

I sent this email out to my work group on Tuesday.  My boss asked me to address this issue in my "Cassondra way."  I wrote this and sent it out. In an effort to maintain employment, I kept it PG-13, but I really would have liked to get into more detail.  It was well-received and I have had several people thank me for addressing this problem.  Additionally, word of my email has gone viral, apparently, and I have random people in the building, not in my department, that are now requesting to be added to my distro list when I send these types of emails out.  I told my boss today that I am going to start asking for royalties on this stuff.  Without further adieu, here is my email.

Payphones vs. Bathroom Stalls

It has been brought to my attention that there may be confusion about the difference between a phone booth and a bathroom stall.  I find visuals are helpful.

 

 

Picture the following scenario.  You have just gone into the bathroom.  You pick a stall, go in and do the seat cover rodeo.  Finally, you settle in.  Then you hear, “hello?”  You think it is odd someone is talking to you, but you respond, “…hello….”  Then you hear, “What time are you done?”  You suddenly find yourself with performance anxiety.  Why does the girl wearing sandals (that is in desperate need of a pedi) in the stall next to you care how long you are in there?  You respond, “I’m doing the best I can here…”  Then you hear, “Excuse me, could you be quiet, I’m trying to have a conversation here.”  Apparently, the girl in the stall next to you was not talking to you.  She was talking to her kid on her phone.  Awkward.

 

I don’t know how you all feel about “stall talk,” but I have had numerous people come up to me and ask me to address this.  Now, I’m not the cell phone police, but I will say, I have learned a lot in the bathroom that I really wish I hadn’t.  I don’t really like it. I really just want to do my thing, in peace, and then return to the natural habitat of my cubicle.  And also, you’ve had your hands on everything in the bathroom, used your phone and then proceeded out.  You are basically taking the bathroom with you when you leave.  Hey, I’m not gonna lie, I’ve Facebooked in there or texted someone, but at least I was quiet, and I washed my hands…and sanitized my phone. AND, No one had to know that I “liked” someone’s unicorn picture. 

 

I think maybe we need some music in there, like at Red Robin or something, but until we do, this is just a “Dear Cassondra” etiquette bulletin, maybe save those conversations for outside of the bathroom. 

 

Disclaimer: This email was not intended to offend anyone, hurt anyone’s feelings or be a smack-down. If you were offended, maybe we can text each other about it next time we are in the bathroom.  Send me your number.

Cotton candy at work, not recommended...

This week was bound to be hell.  There was no way to stop it.  We have executives visiting. The ones I am "responsible for" are my bosses boss and then that bosses boss. They are like, way important. I have been working on their agendas for a couple of weeks and rolling with the punches of last minute changes, etc.  It goes with the territory, it's the job.  Doesn't mean I have to always like it, but I get that is my job.

I started out the week telling my boss I would be a stepford admin and be all smiles and be gracious.  It's what they pay me to do.  Monday was crazy stressful preparing for the visit. Yesterday was long and exhausting with their arrival, but all in all, it went well.  Today, tested my patience, my stepford smile and my ability to not take hostages.

Today was the day we were going to show the VIP's how much fun we have in the center and how engaged we are.  To express this, we are doing a carnival theme.  We are talking cotton candy machine, clowns, caricatures and even a visit from our mascot (which I previously advised you was a cow named Bob).  Now, when I saw the cotton candy machine being assembled, I said, "You know, that is going to set off the fire alarm, I don't feel good about this."  I showed them where the fire sensor was.  It just so happens they were set up right under it.  I told them they should move it out, or get a fan or do something and that it needed to be supervised at all times and be run for short periods of time.  This isn't my first rodeo, we had a popcorn machine set off the alarm before.  What are the chances a cotton candy machine would?  My boss was equally skeptical.  We agreed to let things proceed as long  as they had a fan.  I had bigger things to worry about.

I spent most of my morning running all over the center wrangling VIP's, taking them from meeting to meeting, monitoring their agenda's running up and down the stairs three million times.  I was getting crabby. Not so much stepford admin right now, more like Cybil with multiple personalities.  As I was on one of my missions, they said, "come over and get your picture done by the caricature guy."  Fine.  I sit down and he is like, "smile big."  I don't have a big smile, I told him so. He kept giving me crap about it.  How bout I draw a picture of his lifeless body on the floor?  He complains the whole time he is drawing me that he can hardly draw me because of my lack of smile and my sour attitude.  Fuck off, caricature guy. I don't need this crap.  I'm gonna shove a cotton candy stick up your ass.  He shows me the finished product.  Suffice to say, it was not swoon-worthy.  Big ol fat cheeks.  I hate his guts.  I walked over to my desk and passed my boss and yelled, "I really enjoyed being hassled by the caricature guy, that was super fun!  I don't have time for this!" She blinked and kept walking.

I had a vein pulsating in the right side of my neck and a weird stabbing pain in my shoulder. I could just picture it, it was going to blow out and spurt blood all over.  I only have Snoopy bandages at work. In all likelihood, I would die if it does explode. As I am sitting there eating lunch and wondering if I will, in fact, explode, here comes Bob the mascot and a clown.  I asked them to get away.  Let's be honest, I didn't ask, I told. They were undeterred. Bob puts his hand around my shoulder, almost groping my boob.  I told the clown, "do not take my picture when I have food in my mouth."  I glared at them.  "oh,come now, smile."  I repeated, "I told you not to take my picture."  Click! Mother Trucker.  Why doesn't anyone listen to me?  Then the clown says, "oh, that's not a very good picture."  No shit, Sherlock, I told you NOT to. 
Apparently, clowns are deaf.  I didn't get the memo on that.

Pretty soon the Dish Guy and his boss, Cheetos & Taki's come over.  We exchanged witty banter and I was telling Cheetos & Takis how Dish Guy was showing me how to be "street."  I showed him some gestures that showed my pimp-daddyness.  Apparently, one of my gestures was off a bit.  I was supposed to be "pourin it out to my homies" but instead it looked like I was suggesting someone needed to whack off.  Woops.  I'm just a simple girl from the farm.  I'd better stick to the one gesture I'm sure of, and that is the international sign for "you are #1."  I can't cut a break today.

Next thing I know, the VIP's are missing in action and I have to find them.  I'm tearing around trying to locate them, up and down the mother trucking stairs.  Did I mention there are five floors?  I know some people don't realize we have a fifth floor, but we do. I'm pissed.  I didn't make that mother trucking agenda to have them go free style on me and go rogue in the building.  I made that agenda and they are going to follow it. As I walk past the cotton candy machine, I considered just putting my head in there and turning it on.  See how the coroner likes that.  Fuck you, I died in a ball of cotton candy.  I'm walking around and all I hear is, "Cassondra I need this..." "Cassondra do you know about that..."  "Cassondra can you do this..."  If I hear my name one more time, I'm going to snap. My neck is pulsating and I am pretty sure everyone can see and hear it.

In between chaos is all the other shit that happens during the day. Like, I schedule a meeting for a group of people and some of the people are mean to the other people.  It's like West Side Fucking Story.  Grow the fuck up.  Stop being an asshat to your co-workers.  Petty bullshit.  Then I find out someone had a three-way with someone else.  I didn't need to know that. Why do I have to know that?  Why is it always the ones you least expect that kind of behavior from?  I'm not judging, just...how does that get out?  How does the hotline network find out?  Will and I can barely handle each other and don't even like it when the dogs watch, a three-way?  No.  With a co-worker? HELL NO.  I've seen their bathroom habits, no way.

It is now afternoon and I go looking for the Big Cheese again.  I'm irritated.  I take one of our visiting executive guys from Dish TV, Cheetos & Taki's, to go see the Big Cheese.  While I am walking through our aisle ways I am dodging these stupid bird houses we have hanging from the ceiling.  They are all part of our whimsical summer theme decorations.  I reach up and peg that thing hard.  Well, Cheetos & Taki's is right behind me.  Woops.  I didn't really think that through.  I turned around, "you okay?"  He responds, "uh, yeah, just missed me."  Bad judgement on my part.  So noted. We continue our walk upstairs where I have Big Cheese located in an office.  She comes walking out towards us.  I said, "I'm bringing you Cheetos & Taki's."  She says, "The agenda says we are to meet in Four Feet of Fury's office."  I said, "yes, well, that was because I didn't know if I could get you this office for sure up here, so since you have that, you can use that."  She says, "No, it says Four Feet of Fury's office, that is where we will meet."  So, we all walk back downstairs.  Seriously?  Seriously.  I get her back down there and she says, "Where is Four Feet of Fury?"  I advised her that FFF was in a meeting with her boss, Banana Fanna.  Big Cheese asked me to go see if FFF wanted to be in the meeting she was having.  I walk back upstairs where FFF is with Banana Fanna.  Mother Trucker.  Turns out FFF doesn't want to be in the meeting with Big Cheese.  I go back downstairs and tell Big Cheese she doesn't want to come. She says, "Okay, that's fine."  Really?  It was a big deal a few minutes ago.  Sigh.

I sat there at my desk and decided to bite on some Goldfish crackers.  I needed to bite someone's head off. My neck was still pulsating.  Before I knew it, 30 minutes had passed and it was time to move the VIP's again.  I get them all settled on different floors, using the stairs 300 more times. I walk in to our area and the cotton candy machine is going again.  I stop and look.  Blue smoke is billowing up.  This isn't good. No one wants to hear that this is bad.  I just stand there for a moment and then thought, "it's out of my hands."  I didn't even get back to my desk and the fire alarm went off.  I knew it. I fuckin' knew it.  No one listens to the admin.  My boss, FFF comes flying out of her office.  Terror was in her eyes.  She knew the jig was up.  Executives are looking over the railing.  The clown and the mascot are quickly dismantling the cotton candy machine like no one will ever guess it was there.  People are mobbing everywhere heading for the exits.  We head outside, there is nothing more to do except wait for the lashing. As we stand there waiting for the fire department, I see my bosses face.  It's white, she wants to throw up and cry at the same time, I can tell.  This is not how you impress your boss.  I should have told her what my name means in greek mythology, but now was not the time.

But just so you know...
(In Greek mythology, Cassandra (Greek Κασσάνδρα, also Κασάνδρα)^[1] was the daughter of King Priam and Queen Hecuba of Troy. Her beauty caused Apollo to grant her the gift of prophecy. In an alternative version, she spent a night at Apollo's temple, at which time the temple snakes licked her ears clean so that she was able to hear the future (this is a recurring theme in Greek mythology, though sometimes it brings an ability to understand the language of animals rather than an ability to know the future).^[2] When Cassandra refused Apollo's attempted seduction, he placed a curse on her so that her predictions and those of all her descendants would not be believed. She is a figure both of the epic tradition and of tragedy.)

Finally, the building was cleared and we went back in.  She walked up to me and put her hand out and said, "Well, it was nice working with you."  I said, "I know, I'm gonna miss you."  She laughed and said, "hey, you could have at least tried to cheer me up."  I told her she would be fine.  She went into her office and I instant messaged her, "Do you think I should update Big Cheeses agenda and add the fire drill?"  I heard her laughing in there and she said yes.  It would only be my 100th change to the fucking agenda.  I asked the Executive Admin upstairs if it was bad form to announce a Fire Sale on Cotton Candy...Everything Must Go!  She thought it was a great idea.  Come on, that's funny.

You know what isn't funny?  The damn elevators stopped working and everyone figured I needed to handle it.  Do I look like a fucking elevator technician?  I call the front desk and he advises me that yes, it's true the elevators don't work and that they don't know when they will work again...and that we don't think there are any bodies in them.  That is fanfuckingtastic.  Look, I've walked up and down those damn stairs all day, all the other lazy mother truckers can too, get over it.  

I finally had seen my fill of adventures in babysitting VIP's, so I asked FFF if I could go home.  She said I could and I packed up my crap and got the hell out of there, taking those stairs one last time for the night.
Holy crap, what a day.  I have one more day of this VIP stuff.  I hope my artery can take it. 

Oh, and one final note, the same people that brainstormed the cotton candy machine also have a popcorn popper reserved for us for tomorrow.  I told them no fucking way.  They are going to give the sno-cone machine a try.  Should be harmless...right?  What's the number for 9-1-1 again?