You Can’t Make This Up

What’s EVEN FUCKING SADDER than being so pants-shittingly retarded and incompetent at one of the easiest jobs in your office that, upon seeing you’ve actually been given some, what do they call it, RESPONSIBILTY, your coworkers snort Pepsi out their nose and start taking bets not on IF the train wreck is coming, but WHEN and how many will be slain?

That being the case… and you being so proud of your new “title” that you MAKE YOURSELF A LITTLE NAMEPLATE FOR YOUR DOOR.  By printing it out on the computer, cutting it out (crookedly, I might add) and Scotch-taping it to your door.  Which, by the way, is not an office, it is a storage closet.  That is why it is full of expired Sierra Mist that no one will drink.  Not to mention, even the people who DO have offices… they don’t have nameplates.  This is not McMahon and Tate.

Why don’t you get some crayons and make it pretty?  And maybe fold another piece of paper in half to make a mailbox so we can all give you Valentines?



And P.S. — congrats to all y’all who caught the Eddie Izzard reference.  If you don’t know who he is, shame on you!  And we’re out of juice boxes, so your choices just became “… or death?”  And of course, the vegetarian plate for Mr. Hitler.



Filed under La Vida Loca, Random Thoughts, Weep for Humanity, WTF???, Youse Guys

35 responses to “You Can’t Make This Up

  1. At least you have a closet with a door, all I have is a nook with 3 walls! 🙂


  2. dude, I’m in the newsroom, we ain’t even got our own desks — but this kid, THIS kid, he’s all full of himself and his “office.”


  3. Maybe you should slide a princess coloring book and some crayons under the door, one of those ones with a story about vain little bitches. He’ll never know it was you!

    They have a plethora of name plates at my office. Which are the kind that stick to the soft cubicle wall, and they slide in a piece of crookedly cut paper with the name on it. It does not, however, make me feel proud. Maybe the dude thinks he’s in corporate America?


  4. Is this the punk ass “computer expert” you speak so highly of?

    I have an office, with a real live door, yet no name plate. The secretaries did at one point make these things to hang on our door that consisted of printing our names out on a white piece of paper and then sliding them into one of those plastic things that usually go into binders (like a protector type thing? I am not describing this well. Fuck), and then taping them to our doors. We are fancy, I know. Then, recently, they painted the office, including the doors, so they all had to come down. Somehow I haven’t found the need to put it back up. If someone really wants me, they can work for it and ask someone where I am. Why make it so easy for the bitches, I say?


    • The office I share used to be a bariatric preop room. We still have a biohazard sign on the door….it just felt right.


      • Now I want your office. No, wait. I just want your office biohazard sign.


        • I, too, want a biohazard sign. Right now all I have are old award plaques from back when the company would pay the entrance fees for contests… And shockingly enough, THIS dude is actually MORE incompetent than the computer guy. His whole job was to push the little button that puts me on the air at a certain time… and he couldn’t do it!


  5. Don’t hate. That go-getter knows you should print out nameplates for the job you WANT, not the job you HAVE… isn’t that the saying? Oh wait, no, he’s just a retard.


  6. I’m more used to Eddie’s “tea and cake, or death” version… the anglican inquisition.

    The emperor fabulous is another great creation of his.

    also. yay for bewitched.


  7. How I handle this is to forward any calls that begin “May I speak to the person in charge of……” OR the ones with the delay that let you know it’s obviously a computer dialed call or a recording, to this person’s phone. Then, make sure his door stays shut, because “all the noise” is too “distracting” for the rest of us.
    Bonus tip: get his name and HOME address on a “free magazine” subscription. This will guarantee that his name will be sold approx. 1, billion more times. Every year. And, the “free magazines” multiply, babe.


  8. I was recently promoted (I’m now officially the top of the bottom) and I celebrated by changing the outfit on the My little Pony I keep on my desk. Come the revolution- it will be just Strawberry and I against them all!!!!


    • I’m in that weird position where I’m FAIRLY sure I’m my own department head — it’s me and one other guy and he never does anything. And no one ever tells me to do stuff… not stuff they actually expect to be DONE, anyway.


  9. Jen

    You should come in early one day and “bedazzle” his nameplate with some puffy pink hearts and Strawberry Shortcake stickers. “Unicorns and Glitter, Bitches!”


  10. You seem remarkably worked up about this. My MIL has the most annoying f*ckwit in her office that she complains about just like this whenever I talk to her. Love it!


  11. There’s one in every company. Just wait until he gets promoted over you and starts giving you orders — then you’ll have to plot to kill him. Or just steal his stapler and frame him for embezzlement.


  12. Does the nameplate have just his name, or does it also have his new title? Because adding the title would be super-obnoxious.

    I’m used to seeing nameplates, though. Where I work, everyone has a nameplate on their door. Part-time students who have to double up on desks get nameplates. Frequent visitors (people who come and work with us for a week or so several times a year) get nameplates on the offices they share with other visitors. It’s actually pretty convenient when you need to go to someone’s office and aren’t quite sure where it is.


    • it has both, and it just kills me that he OBVIOUSLY made it for himself… iddent dat cute? Plus, his “office” is the last room before the bathrooms, so if you’ve walked all through the building and NOT found him yet, you can fairly well deduce where he might be.


  13. Thank you for making me snort tea out of my nose. It burns, goddamnit.


  14. Put me down for CAKE! And a paper mailbox full of Valentines.

    Seriously. Write. It. Down.


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