My office was much quieter this week because Anna – the bane of my existence – took the week off to vacation somewhere with her family. Those unfortunate souls.
Regardless, the only noise I could hear came from my Pandora radio playing on my computer and the flushing of the toilet next to my office – which I have to tell you about.
There’s nothing more personally violating than minding your own business when all of a sudden you hear Sal from accounting walk into the bathroom and somehow manage to orchestrate recreations of the Bombing of Dresden AND Pearl Harbor in that poor, poor porcelain bowl. I sometimes wonder if in fact he just has boxes of zucchini and summer squash hidden somewhere in the bathroom and is whipping them against the back wall of the toilet.
Yes, it’s that bad.
The good part about it is... no. There is no good part. Only bad. Bad, bad, bad. And traumatizing.
It’s scarring in the sense that I feel as though I shared this moment with him because only a wall and about six feet separate the two of us. The only thing that comes close to describing what goes on in that bathroom is “Hippo butt explosion.”
The worst part is that when he leaves that newly christened burial ground, he walks past my office door and gives me this weird smile that says, “I know you know… and I like it.”
I have come to expect nothing less from Sal, however, for I don’t believe the word “etiquette” has ever fallen between “eating” and “farting” in his personal dictionary.
His lunchroom tendencies are as frustratingly unwholesome as his propensity for putting on his own Fourth of July fireworks display in the company restroom.
What Sal doesn’t have going for him is that he’s violating one of my biggest pet peeves. I cannot... CANNOT... stand it when someone bites their fork when they eat. People who bite their fork whilst feeding their severely deranged selves make my soul bleed. It’s as simple as that. My teeth feel like they’re undergoing chemotherapy if I even graze the fork when it’s in my mouth, so I can’t for the life of me understand why and how people can just chomp down on it with every bite. It’s like, “Would you care for a side of food with your fork this evening?”
Hercules and I feel the same when we see and hear someone biting their fork.
For those of you wondering what that clip is, the actor playing Hercules read the stage direction “disappointed” and decided to scream the emotion he was instead supposed to be portraying on his face. Clearly he’s just upset at the human race for biting their forks.
So after unloading a nuclear warhead in the bathroom and ripping through his metal fork, Sal is down to strike two – but not for long. You see, after he commits the mortal sin of biting his eating utensil, he then proceeds to chew his food more loudly than a camel.
It’s as if he doesn’t even have cheeks. I don’t get it. How can I, sitting at least ten feet away from him, still hear the individual food molecules being broken apart in his mouth? What’s even more confusing is that I can hear all of this mastication despite the fact that his mouth is closed.
It’s more perplexing than trying to figure out what kind of dream this kid had.
Please, before you chastise me for trying too hard to find faults with this man, let me remind you that I am not listening for these things. I’m not trying to hear this man lay waste to the bathroom, perform self-dentistry with his fork, or break the sound barrier with the moving apparatus that is this man’s tongue, teeth, and cheeks. I just do. Even with Pandora playing in the background.
To summarize, in order to make as few friends in the office as possible, be Sal. Even Anna is better than... nope.
This blog and all of its previous entries have been completely satirical in their intent. All names have been changed, but to be honest - half of the people you've come to know and love were completely made up. Also, much of my content was made up to entertain you wonderful readers because, let's be honest, who wants to read about me actually doing work at work.