Breakfast Granola for 3/29/11

If you are a smelly greasebag, have sex like you park your truck -- incorrectly -- and need medical assistance to knock up your wife, pay close attention.

I didn't select my job with making friends in mind -- I needed money, it was more than conveniently close, and I knew I could do it -- but it just so happens that I like most everyone I work with. But not you.

I like to think I gave you the benefit of the doubt -- "Maybe he's not as stupid as he looks and smells" -- but you amaze me time and again with your incompetence, arrogance, stubbornness, lack of wit, and perfect willingness to throw others under the bus at no provocation.

If you wonder why yet more conversations and activities halt around you, why more sentences seem to slow down and stilt with words even more carefully chosen for their connotation and circumspection, why eyes roll harder, snickers are longer, and why glances and shoulders turn away faster at your presence, it's because I told enough people that -- on top of being an asshole -- you're a backstabbing snitch, too.

See, it's bad enough when you turn the job from one I don't hate into one I don't like, but turn it into one I dread dragging myself to? Attitude is the least of beginnings, and grunting is the height of fruitful conversation. We never had to like each other, but I'm not the one trying to duplicate the magic that is your marriage in the workplace.

I, for my part, will continue to perform, and do my best to get along and have a little fun with everyone else. Fuck you very much if you think you're taking that away.

Meanwhile, kindly keep my name out of your mouth and don't you ever -- EVER! -- open your eyes at me.