Office habits

Sandra is telling me something about the new database they’re installing. It’s quite important and will directly affect my work so I should really pay attention. However, I am distracted by Sandra continually excavating the contents of her nose with a finger, examining the findings then flicking them across the room.

I am impressed, as well as disgusted, by the amount she’s found already and she’s only done one nostril. I should be used to this by now as this is not unusual behaviour. In my first meeting with her (and several other people), she gave a presentation during which she casually scooped something out of her ear that, in the beam of the projector, threw a shadow that looked remarkably like Jabba’s little pet from Return of the Jedi.

I’m not picking on Sandra though; she’s just one among many. For instance, take Bill Hutchins who sits next to me and saves tissues by blowing his nose directly onto his sleeve. Or alternatively he holds one nostril and empties the other into our shared bin – snot rockets that are invariably accompanied by a short, sharp “Fnurrgh!”

It’s not just noses and ears though. Young Patrick Connor often stands in the middle of the office, legs apart scratching and rearranging the contents of his trousers. For minutes at a time. If he put that kind of effort into his work he’d be senior management in no time.

I never accept offers of coffee from anyone in this place by the way.

And then Craig “Personal Space” Kingson. The nickname is ironic; the man has no idea that standing two inches away is somewhat off-putting. Add in the steady stream of spit he produces when he talks and you can see why people always try to get a table or chair or anything to create some distance in front of them when they see him coming.

Frank Childs is another one. Incapable of making eye contact with women as he can’t take his eyes off their breasts, even in the most modest of clothes. God, I hope I’m not that obvious. I mean, I look of course, but more subtly than that. Is that better though? Maybe Frank should be commended for being open about what all men are doing secretly anyway. Not sure many women in the office would go along with that though.

Even Sally who sits opposite me. A perfectly pleasant woman, don’t get me wrong, but the way she eats is incredible. The amount of times I’ve looked up to find her face covered in yoghurt. It’s in her eyebrows, for crying out loud! How can she not notice?

In fact I can’t think of a single person here who doesn’t have at least one thing about them. It’s like the company has an employment policy to keep the socially inept and awkward off the dole. Even the big boss himself is freakishly fond of physical contact with his staff – men and women.

My first day here he gripped me in a bear hug that lifted my feet off the ground. “You’ll fit right in here,” he told me. What did he meant by that?