Eat Sleep Work Study

Catharsis

Dear Complainer: I am very sorry that you are “so upset” that your/your daughter’s/your son’s wedding announcement can’t run run on your requested day. I am sure that as you signed all of those checks to pay for the wedding, which probably cost more than I make in a year, you lost your ability to read and follow directions. The form you signed says you have to turn your stuff in 16 days in advance. Now, if I turned in my rent check 10 days late, do you think my landlord would be all like, “Hey, that’s cool, I know you’ve got life or death situations like planning an extravagant wedding to attend to. You can’t be bothered with rent!” Ok. Sorry, I mixed two metaphors there. The point? You are not special just because you or someone you love is getting married. It might be your special day, but it is just Saturday to about 99% of the rest of us. Rules still apply to you. Thank you.

Dear Activist Event Organizer Guy: I am sure your event is really cool. But, if you can’t figure out how to a) compose a proper e-mail and/or press release (especially one without glaring spelling errors) or b) use our very easy online calendar, you do not need to be organizing press for fun events. You should be the guy that hands out balloons at the event. Or gives out name tags. Thank you.

Dear Complainer: I am not kidding about the deadlines. I really don’t care about your special day. Thank you.

Dear Coworkers: When you sing at your desks, I want to shoot myself. Now, occasionally, one of you will bust out with a tune I like, and  therefor I can recognize it through your botched rendition. That’s fun. But half of the time your song is completely unrecognizable. Please, I can handle talking to yourself. I do that shit all the time. And I can handle the occasional whistle. But please, unless you have background music, and a choreographed number to accompany your song, I don’t want to hear it. But, if you have that other stuff, bring it, cause I like to be entertained. Thank you.

Dear Old Guy at the Cafeteria: I know you really want to help, but you can’t hear anyone when they give their orders, and you take 5 minutes to just write down the order, and then… and then! You can’t remember the price. There has got to be some other way you can serve in the organization. Please consider being the salad bar guy. Thank you.

Dear Third Party Tech-Services Guy: OMG. I have no idea what that e-mail meant. Seriously. I had a 16 word question, and you gave me four paragraphs of answer. Now, it may be the percocet talking, but I couldn’t understand a damn word of the thing. It was like reading vulcan. Or something. Please, use short phrases and recognizable words. Thank you.

Dear Kidney Stone: You are the one who made me this cranky. I think we could be better friends if you were outside of my body instead of inside of it. If you could consider evacuating in 24 hours, I would totally keep you, instead of giving you to the evil doctors to examine and destroy. And then I could have you dipped in gold and made into a pendant, that I would wear on a necklace next to the percocet that I dipped in gold and made into a pendant. A reminder of two things that go great together. Please consider. Thank you.