Dear Sir/Madam/possible inheritor of $5,000,000 from a Ugandan Prince
Do you ever have those days where your creativity feels stifled in your windowless, soulless, office? Do you feel like you need light to grow and thrive? Like a tree? I am a tree trapped in a box with no soul.
Sometimes you just need your email signature to express who you truly are inside, rather than the corporate shill you are paid to be. I’m a little bored and a little trapped in this office. Help me please.
Chief Supreme Clinic Manager and Demi God/Princess
Executive Wordsmith and Super Mum
…also good with glue and glitter
Clinic Manager/Future Trophy Wife of Chad Kroeger
Clinic Manager/Aspiring Wizard
Clinic Manager/Potential Sweepstakes Prize Winner
Apocalypse Prevention Team Manager
Administrator Extraordinaire and Very Poor Juggler
Expert procrastinator/Very good at colouring in
Clinic Manager/Social Media Assistant/Located far too far from a decent winery
Clinic Manager/ Chief Wordsmith and Purveyor of Bullshit
The other day I got a phone call that amused me for the rest of the day. To be honest, as I sit here telling you about it, I’m still pretty amused at myself. My job can get a little monotonous and sometimes I’m just looking for small ways to keep myself smiling.
Things to know:
- In amongst the myriad of things I am responsible for in my job, warehouse logistics is one of them. Boxes come in. I ship them out. Pretty straight forward process.
- I’m quite sure no one actually reads half the information I have to enter in to the system when I send things out. It seems pointless.
- I spend far too much time on the phone talking and emailing our assistant accountant to discuss things that I’m sure HR would tell us were inappropriate for work conversations. We make each other laugh. A lot. Who wants in on our Zombie Apocalypse team?
“Hey. This is Jo.”
“So… this parcel you sent out. The one marked ‘not puppies’. It sounds suspiciously like it might be puppies. Are you posting puppies? You shouldn’t post puppies. Were there puppies in that box?”
…takes a second to think about what on earth Lee* is talking about. Remembers that when entering the information in to the very boring TNT form to ship out very boring supplies to another branch I got bored and wondered if Linda** actually reads the shipping information on the boxes I post her. She does not. Turns out that it is Lee’s job to check everything I ship…
Erupts in to laughter. Mission accomplished. Much shenanigans planned for the future now I know he has to read every. single. label. that I print.
*Not his real name. There might be a Lee that works for our company, but it is not that one.
**Also not her real name. See above.
I called my friend in another office to ask her a very important grammar question, because you don’t want internal emails to Head Office to go out without proofing them first. That’s just unprofessional, People! And I’m all about looking professional. That’s why I’m the boss. No really.
“Okay. Important Question. You know what a stickler I am for grammar rules. Do you think prostitutey has an E in it or just a Y?”
“Ummmm… That’s one of those words I have to see written down. Gimme a sec. <scribes silently> It definitely has an E in it.”
“Yeah, cause you only drop the E when you add ING, not when you add Y.”
“Yeah. And IE just looks funny. <starts giggling> You need to write that down. Look at Prostitutie with an IE written down. Are you doing it?”
“Yeah? It looks wrong. Its definitely an EY.”
“No but with an IE it looks all cute. Like it might be a lip gloss flavour.”
“Eewww Noone wants lip gloss that salty and white.”
“Nooooo. Like Lip Smackers Prostitutie Fruity. I’d buy that. It sounds delicious and fun.”
<disolves into laughter>
And while I’m sure that prostitutes and flavour derivatives thereof are both delicious* and fun, I am not so sure that it is time for them to be on the supermarket shelves.
*in a completely non-cannibalistic way. Please don’t eat people. Well, do. But only in the behind-closed-doors kind of way. But now I think about it, cannibals probably don’t leave the front door open when they are cooking dinner. No one wants to see you adding paprika to your great Aunt Ruth who ended up in your favourite goulash recipe because she gave you yet another ugly christmas sweater. I think I’ve put too much thought in to this already. So in summation: Eating people is only for sexy times. Not for dinner times. This is an explicit disclaimer to absolve myself of any involvement or responsibility in your freaky and completely illegal canabal parties.
What the hell Outlook??? Why does Outlook think this is an appropriate trend to start??? While I’m appreciative that they are offering easy payment options, I think that the amount of lube and liquor that it would take for me to respond to this offer would violate my office’s Workplace Health and Safety regulations.