When the wife shows up . . .Creepy coworker STFU

Here at Wonderland, we work with an outside company for some of our jobs.
There is always one dude with this company that's just creepy. You can ignore it because you don't see them everyday.

But every time you see him, he makes some kind of borderline sexual remark. Oh, black looks so good on you.

You're too pretty to be mad.

I pull all the honeys.

Obviously your mirror is showing you something different than what the world sees.
Insert Kanye shrug.

So, the other day I was eating in the cafeteria, because it was free and the way my checking account is set up, I can't turn down a free meal. So, Creep McGee walks in with a woman. Check that, his woman. His wife.

He shot me a look that was like, please, please don't say anything. The old me, the one who liked drama in the work place, would've have said —What do you think of my outfit?

But watching the sweat build on his five finger forehead as I sat that slowly eating my salad and carrot sticks was so much fun.

Then I went to get my drink refill and she was at the drink machine. Nice lady. I spoke to her and told her that the tea here isn't good. Go for the fruit punch. Then I went back to my table and tossed my tray.

He still hasn't said a word. I wish the wife was here everyday!

Lies my coworker told me . . .

Mondays are hard enough with out having to deal with someone's flights of fancy. Well, that's what my day has been like today. Little Bookman started the day with a Quaker Oats bowl full of lies.

Sunday, he said, he was in a motorcycle accident.

But when he walked into Wonderland, 38 minutes late, there wasn't a visible scratch on him. Is he made of teflon?
The story about the accident changed depending on who he told it to — it happened after church. But he had on his riding pants and jacket.
Really? That's how we go to church these days?

In one story, he had to get his pants leg cut off. But there was no damage, yet doctors said he'd have some swelling. But they didn't give him crutches. He was hobbling around on a cane. Moaning with each painful step.

So, where's the pain medicine?

 After all, a jeep pulled out in front of you and crashed your little boy motorcycle and this is the second accident that you've had this month!

As it turns out, he's not taking any pain meds, but he was hurting so badly that he dipped about fifteen minutes after arriving to work. Could it be that the fact that the manager isn't here made his pain worsen.

So, then another coworker comes over and says, did Little Bookman send you a Linkedin profile request.
I nodded.
"Did you look at it?"
"Nope."
"Oh my, it say he's a senior consultant at Wonderland. That he has two engineering degrees and he got them both in four years."
Really?
So, you even lie on your Linkedin profile — as if people aren't going to check! And it you are THAT smart, why are you here?
It's too early in the week to be reading from the book of lies!

So, I've decided to list the lies Little Bookman has been caught in since I started at Wonderland:

1. My mama had a stroke. 
2. I'm married.
3. I'm late (On Martin Luther King Jr. Day) because I had to take my son to school.
4. My girlfriend had a hysterectomy. 
5. I'm closing on a house (this has been used three times).
6. I did security at the Super Bowl.
7. Today is my dad's birthday (twice in one year).
8. My mama had another stroke.
9. We had a lot of people in here last Super Bowl Sunday (Wonderland is thankfully closed on Sundays) 
10. I speak Spanish. (All I've ever heard him say is Si.) 

#BitchBaby: How in the world did Shonda and crew meet my coworkers?

Things are bad at Wonderland. So bad that the Mad Hatter, AKA the owner, sold the place. Who knows what kind of Voldermort owners will be running this hell hole next.

While polishing my resume Thursday night, I was watching the hit series, How To Get Away With Murder and heard the perfect description of my coworkers and bosses.

#Bitchbaby.

Oh, yeah. If Bitchbaby is in the dictionary, Mr. Poodle's face is right next to it, followed by Little Bookman — who is skating on thin ice with me today.  I have to keep telling myself, Orange is NOT the New Black.

I'm not about that jail life, especially when I know this fucktard is doing shit to piss me off on purpose. So, did I dump a half of cup of coffee in his seat? Maybe I did, or maybe he just pissed himself.

Anyway, when I heard the term Bitchbaby, I knew exactly what they meant. Someone alway complaining, but wants all the glory. That's these folks to a T!

I think for the rest of the day, I'm going to practice my resting bitch face, which will probably morph into this:

By the way, Happy Saturday.

There's a sign at work that says excuses are for losers

Then my managers must be the biggest losers in America.

All I hear are excuses and see the finger pointed at me.

Here's a finger:

Sing it 2Pac! 

You know that one co-worker . . .

• You know that one co-worker you'd rather hit with a brick than say hello to
• You know that one co-worker who you smell before you see
• You know that one co-worker who has been doing your job for a shorter time than you but knows every damn thing
• You know that one co-worker who's breath smells like he ate a diarrhea sandwich with a side of shit fries. 

It's too early for this. And by the way, Happy Saturday. 

Oh, but I'm wrong?

In Wonderland, you're supposed to smile and nod. Be happy when you've been pissed for months because you've been lied to by management, you work hard and people who don't do a damned thing gets rewards.

Sometimes you snap.

Sometimes was today.

I was having a conversation with a manager and Little Bookman gets all up in the middle of it. Bruh, no one is talking to you.  Seriously, I haven't said more than two words to you since July. Shut the hell up!

So, my manager said the words that a pissed off woman loves to hear: angry, black woman. Then Bookman laughed and hell was unleashed. Turned to Bookman and said: "Wasn't Nobody Talking to you!" 

And I know, this was horrible grammar, syntax and the like. 

So the manager tells me to come here, as if I was his teenaged daughter. 

I replied, "I am not your child and you won't talk to me as such!" Grammar back in tact. Then I walked into Wonderland and packed my shit. 

I didn't quit. 

Unfortunately, I'll be there in the morning. 

I really don't care for any of y'all

Once upon a time, I worked in a place where I actually liked my coworkers and my boss. We'd have lunch together, we'd hang out after work and they all supported my dream of becoming a published author. And by support, I mean they bought my books.

Thinking the grass was greener on the other side of the highway, I left that job. I did it for the money and for three years, I was happy as a lark. Then my boss left and all hell broke loose. A new guy was hired, the company went bankrupt and I found myself unemployed.

That would've been awesome if I had money rolling in from books every week. And I have to admit, maybe I've grown accustom to a steady paycheck and that's what is keeping me from doing the full-time author thing.

And, I need health insurance. OK. But I digress.

So, after a year of unemployment and a job in the call center from hell. iQor — yeah, I said it!
I started at Wonderland. Since I'm still employed there, I can't name the place, yet.
Here's a typical day there.

First, you walk in the door and you smile at the customers. Then you're hit with some stupid question or comment.
Example: Is that your natural hair color?

WHAT DO YOU THINK?
Another stupid question: Can I touch your hair?
Really?

Moving on from the customers, let me tell you about the cast of clowns I work with.

1. Little Bookman.
Dude is 25 and has done more in the Army than my dad did in his 30 plus year career. He's a ranger, he's in military intelligence, he's with the CIA, FBI, NYPD, and most importantly, the L.I.A.R.S. Club.
We were cool until his true colors came shining through. Like, he lied about being my frat brother. . .WHO DOES THAT?

2. Mr. Know it All
Here we have a 21 year old who has been doing this job for seven months and is already thinking he should be a manager. Manage these, dude. Really? When he's not selling, he whines and pouts like a petulant child who's never gotten his ass whipped. I'm talking with a Hot Wheels track type of whipping. Then he complains when he has to help some one, but expects others to bow down and show him how to keep the shit tracks out of his drawers —but he never says thank you.
3. Mr. Irrelevant
This guy just started working in Wonderland and he walks around talking about the most inane stuff in the world. Who cares about a 1983 Bentley when the game is on. Sir. Why. Are.You. Talking. To. ME?
And then he's one of those creepy guys who has to lean in to talk to you. Bruh! I'm going to need about 18 feet of personal space.
4. Mr. Poodle Man
This gentleman has allegedly been in the business for 20 years. But he doesn't know how to do this job. And he is supposed to be some publisher of a magazine, which I've never heard of or seen. But everyone around Wonderland knows he has pictures of half naked women in his iPhone 4. Yes, 4. Not even a 4s.
And no one seems to realize — but me —that he smells like a sick poodle.

I really don't care for anyone of them.

Old Spice and Obama haters

There are two type of people who shop at Wonderland. Men who bathe in Old Spice and Obama haters.

I understand everyone isn't going to love the President. But some of the Old Spice Obama Haters blame this man for their bouts with gout. But were you in the Armed Forces? Nah. Did you sign up for Obamacare? Nah. And you haven't been to the doctor? Nah. Why are you mad, son?

And what's crazy is, my coworkers in Wonderland engage in conversations with the loony toons, revealing that if we didn't have uniforms, they'd probably wear sheets to work.

Revising my resume as I type.
Later, my manager is watching.