You’ve been here. I can tell. My calendar’s open, my cup’s been moved, and your stench is still polluting my air. Seriously. It’s like working the perfume counter at K-Mart. It’s harsh. You smell like an Iraqi cab driver and you’re nosy. Stay the fuck out of my office.
We have e-mail, voice-mail, and inter-office mail. We have in-boxes, out-boxes, instant messaging, and eighteen fucking sizes of Post-it notes. There is no need for personal interaction. None. You need something? Call me. E-mail me. Send a fucking smoke signal. I don’t care, just stay out my fucking office.
It will wait. Whatever crisis you’re experiencing, whatever question you have, it will wait until I return from the bathroom. It will. I work here. We have the same job. I know what we do. It’s not that important. It will wait. If I’m not here, I will return. Stay out of my office. I will not alert you when I need to shit. I will not pencil in my bodily functions.
Stay the fuck out of my office.
Stink it up again and I’ll pencil in an ass whooping. Nosy heifer.