Workplace Drama - "Stop the Nastiness!"

Okay, I'm going to offer up some free advice on how not to have your co-workers avoid your nasty ass:

1. Keep a toothbrush and toothpaste, or mouthwash or a supply of gum in your desk. Seriously, nobody wants you all up their face trying to hold a conversation after you've had a cold cub sub with onions, or leftover spaghetti and garlic bread, or kimchee, or chitlin' sandwich for lunch, if you haven't fixed the resulting yuck mouth first. That goes for coffee breath too...
2. Speaking of coffee: All right, I get that the bathroom is about halfway between the lunch room and your, and that with your many trips back and forth to refill, you are going to have to make a few pit stops through the course of the day, but seriously: why on earth would you bring your cup of coffee into the shithouse with you? I mean, rare is the time that I go into the men's room at work and somebody's not detonating a nuclear warhead up in that piece. Ain't no way in hell I'm going to bring something amidst all that funk that I plan on putting to my lips immediately after (or even during) my visit there. But I guess that's just me...
3. Speaking of shitting: You just finished blowing up the bathroom to Kingdom Come and back again, and you gonna stroll out of the stall with your magazine rolled up under your arm and head straight for the door??? Did you not just wipe your funky ass (I sure hope you did)? Well, wash your hands before you grab that door handle that other people have to use, you nasty SOB...
4. Lunchroom nastiness: I'm pretty sure that at some point during your childhood, your mama taught you not to talk with your mouth full. Well guess what, the statute of limitations ain't run out on your ass. Eat first, then talk. Nobody wants to see the chewed-on version of your lunch come flying at them while you tell them about some shit they didn't want to hear in the first damn place. Chew, swallow, then talk. It ain't that difficult a sequence of events to follow...
5. And while I'm at it: I swear, if you keep blowing and/or picking your nose at the lunch table, and sooner or later, somebody's going to overturn that table on you and whoop dat ass...I mean, really, do you have some kind of condition that makes your nasal passages generate mucus in the presence of other people's food? Come on, now, blowing and picking does not go well with dining amongst others...take the time to clear all that snot-boogie stuff out of your system BEFORE you come to the lunchroom. And if the need arises to do that crap while you're there, at least get up, or turn away everybody, or something...

Okay, I'm off my soapbox for now...I hope some of y'all nasty asses learned something...

The Dating Game, episode 5 - "Watch What You Say to the Angry Nerd"

So I met a woman on the internet, and after a few days of conversation, we decided to meet and go out to dinner. She was younger than me, very nice, very attractive, and we hit it off right away. There was a great chemistry, both physically and intellectually. The dinner and the company were both as enjoyable as I could possibly hope for.

   As I was driving her home form the restaurant, the good vibes continued.  We kept up our wide-ranging conversation on a variety of topics, and enjoyed how much of a connection that helped to develop between us, even though we certainly didn't see eye to eye on every topic. It seemed like after going through some rather "interesting" (in not so good ways) dates, I had finally found myself a potential keeper: attractive, smart, feisty, and funny; it seemed that she felt the same about me. On the way, she asked if I would like to keep the evening going by joining her in her apartment, an invitation which took me about 1.2 seconds to accept. It just keeps getting better! An air of anticipation filled the car, and we both seemed to be floating on air.

"I really am enjoying myself, for the first time in a long while."
"I'm having a great time too. You really have been a welcome change from some of my other dates."
"I know what you mean," she said, laughing. "I really like you."
"Thank you, I like you too."
She smiled and gave me a look that said you're about to find out how much I like you...

But then she  said it: "You're different from most men."

Aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!

The Angry Nerd can be a pretty easy going fellow for the most part, but he does have a few pet peeves. First and foremost among them is people cavalierly throwing around numbers and/or mathematical terminology when they have no way to support of back up the claims they are associating with said numbers or terms. And as a lover of all things mathematical, I can't prevent myself from becoming annoyed as hell whenever someone - even someone as attractive in every other way as my date - casually says something like "You're different from most men", no matter how hard I try. See, she thought she was paying a compliment to someone she really liked. The only thing I could take from those well-intended words, however, was that she was disrespecting the use of the word "most". I mean really, what "most" is she referring to? Most men in the world? In the United States? In Maryland? In Baltimore?

I paused and took a deep breath.
Just say thanks, let it go. Just say thanks, let it go. Just say thanks, let it go...
I tried...I really did...

"How would you know what 'most men' are like?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you said I'm not like 'most men'; how would you know what most men are like? There's an awful lot of men in this world."
"Obviously, I'm not talking about all the men in the world. What is wrong with you? Why are you jumping on me about this? You really want to take a compliment and try to pick it apart? I mean, DAMN."

Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go, the little voice in my head kept saying. But, alas, I could not...

It probably wouldn't surprise you to find out that by the time I had finished lecturing her on the mathematical meaning of the word "most" - and my feelings about mis-use of mathematical terminology in general - that my invitation to come up to her apartment had been rescinded. You probably also won't be surprised to learn I never saw her again after that night.

I guess I told her...
 


 

Life's "Special Moments", episode 2

To read episode 1, click here

Episode 2:  "Burn, Baby, Burn!"

   One of the more interesting things about Baltimore is the sometimes stark juxtapositioning of its neighborhoods. Some of its classier neighborhoods are known to run right up against some of its more dangerous. Crossing a major thoroughfare in the city sometimes seems like crossing a border into another country.

  Back in 2004 I was living in an old brownstone subdivided into apartments in the Marble Hill neighborhood, a historic community on the westside known at one time as one the earliest and most prominent communities for middle-class Blacks. By 2004, however, it had fallen on some hard times. There were well-preserved homes, such as the one where I lived, side-by-side with abandoned and boarded up ones (complete with the sort of element those houses attracted). If you walked a couple of blocks south of Marble Hill, you ran smack into the McCulloh Homes housing project, which is historic only in its inspiration for the TV series "The Wire", as stronghold of the infamous Barksdale drug distribution ring (there were days when the whole area was blocked off for the shooting of an episode of the series).

   If you were to leave my apartment, walk to the end of the block, cross McCulloh Street and walk another block, you would suddenly enter what seemed like another world: the even more historical - and unquestionably better preserved - neighborhood of Bolton Hill, which is one of the jewels of inner city Baltimore, and a fully yuppified-to-upper crusty center of culture and history in the near-downtown Baltimore area. The contrast to Marble Hill, and especially to the McCulloh Homes projects and the Upton neighborhood next to it couldn't possibly be more stark.

   As alarming as those differences between these bordering communities were, and as sad -even tragic- the differences in the plights of the people residing there, Bolton Hill is one of my favorite places to visit, just to walk or drive around and take in the history, the architecture, the beauty of it all. I would often walk or jog through Bolton Hill to admire the scenery, and every day I would drive through the area to go to and from work, even though there were faster routes to the job.  Something about driving through Bolton Hill just always put me in a good frame of mind. Until...

   One Friday afternoon, on a beautiful spring day, I was driving home in my 1992 Grand Am, windows down, music blasting, contemplating what I was going to do that weekend. As I exited off of I-83 and got ready to make my sceninc drive through Bolton Hill, the car started to sputter. It had been acting a little funny the previous days, so I figured I would get up early and take it to the shop to have it checked out, and I'd still have the rest of the weekend to enjoy. But as I turned onto Lafayette Avenue to begin my drive through Bolton Hill, the car's sputtering turned to rather pronounced jerking, following by the car stalling out altogether. Terrific. Me and this old car are really going to be a sight in this neighborhood.

   I put the car in park, and popped the hood (not that I had a clue as to what I was going to be looking at or for), and as I got to the front of the car and went to raise the hood, I could see there was smoke coming from the engine. Oh it just gets better. Then as I stood there cursing my bad luck, just like that, the luck got even worse...

  "Oh shit, FIRE!" yelled the guy crossing the street at the exact same time I was thinking it. "I'll be right back he said, as he ran into his house to - I presumed - grab a fire extinguisher or something. Instead he came back with a camera. Others joined him in taking pictures or just marveling at the sight of a car engine burning, until someone finally asked if I had called 911, which in my shock I had not.

   Within a few minutes, the fire and police departments were there almost simultaneously. I had never seen such quick response in all my life (I guess living in Bolton Hill has its privileges). The fire crew quickly soaked the car and drenched the flames. Then one of the firemen approached me and asked me to see if I could start the car and maybe move it to the curb. Seemed like a ridiculous request, but in my state of semi-shock, I trudged over to the driver's side, opened the door, got in, and - forgetting that the windows had been down - sat in a gigantic puddle of water in the driver's seat.

   Of course the car didn't start, so now all I had to show for that effort was a wet ass. I got out of the car, and the police officers approached me and said that if I didn't have a number for a tow truck, that they would call one to take the car to the city lot, and then I could make arrangements later to get it from there. I didn't, and so they did. While waiting for the tow truck, I went started taking some belongings out of the car: three bowling balls in a bag with wheels, a few books and some other assorted odds and ends. A gentleman who lived one of the houses in the block gave me a trash bag to throw the stuff in. A young woman with a toddler in tow asked if I was hungry, then disappeared into her house, returning with some animal crackers and a juice box. So next thing you know, I was standing on the corner, big wet spot on the back of my khakis, with a garbage bag and bowling ball bag beside me, eating animal crackers and sipping from a juice box...

   Finally, the tow truck arrived, the driver got my info, and hooked up the car. He and the cops drove off their separate ways, and the neighbors returned to their houses, without anyone so much as offering me a ride. No big deal, I thought, I'm only about 4 or 5 blocks from home. And then...I felt a drop of rain...and then another, and then a few more. Oh boy, better get a move on!

   So I slung the garbage bag full of my belongings over one shoulder, grabbed the handle of the bowling ball roller bag with the other hand, and started trudging my squishy drawers wearing self home. After about a block or two I didn't have to worry about the embarassment of having a big wet spot on my behind, because it was now raining so hard that ALL of me was soaked.  So I kept it moving as fast as I could, although one can only move so fast in the pouring rain dragging almost 50 pounds of bowling balls and a Hefty Bag filled with a collection of crap I could have taken from Fred G. Sanford's junkyard... I can only imagine the thoughts of the drivers who drove past me, more often than not splashing water on me as they sped on...ahhhh, good times...

Workplace Drama - "The Dog and Pony Show"

   The company I work for is a multi-national corporation which, while it may not be that well known in the States, it's a big player overseas. Twice a year, the big-shots from the various business divisions globally convene for a week-long series of manager's meetings.This latest round of meetings is being hosted this week here in Baltimore.

   As I've mentioned before in this blog, I work in Research and Development, working on projects in inorganic chemistry and metallurgy. It's not a suit and tie job. It's hard core chemistry; it can be messy sometimes, and while we do a decent job of trying to keep things clean, things are not going to be anywhere near spotless as long as we are actually working. Since a lot of the upper management types who attend these manager's meetings started off as chemists or chemical engineers, they are well aware (or should be) of this fact. However, this didn't stop our bosses from wanting to shut down our labs Friday to clean everything top to bottom, hide away any equipment that didn't look shiny and new, and stash samples of materials being worked on in with our chemical inventory, and then stand around dressed all neat and pretty with our hands in our pockets when the managers were due to tour the place. I've always hated these dog and pony shows that put lab workers in a false light. We do hard core chemistry; it's not a sterile environment, messes will be made. That's the reality of the job, why try to pretend otherwise?

  So, as scheduled, the big wigs showed up to take a tour. The big wig we were most panicky and frazzled about was the head of Global Research (a chemical engineer by training) who decides on our budget and our employment status, led the pack of managers as he was shown our main lab. And as he stopped and surveyed the quiet, squeaky clean and polished surroundings, the first thing out of his mouth was, "Wow, it's so clean here, I was hoping to see some action. Isn't anybody doing any work today?" Sigh...maybe he'll come back tomorrow and see some WORK and not a PERFOMANCE...

Baltimorons, 2nd Edition

So I'm riding the bus on the way to work this morning when I (and everyone else on the bus) overheard the following exchange:

"Hey, girl, where you been?"

"Oh, hey, Auntie, I was locked up for a minute."

"What? I ain't know that, what happened?"

"Well this b____ got up in my face about some bullshit, and I ain't take my medication that day, so the voices in my head told me to slap the shit outta her..."

"Oh damn!"

"Then when I went to court, it looked like things were going alright for me, but then my voices started talking to me again right when the judge was saying some shit. So I said, 'shut the fuck up!', and the judge thought I was talking to him, and he locked me up."

(cue the muffled sounds of everyone suppressing their laughter)

"So where you going to now?"

"I gotta go back to court about some other dumb shit this other b____ got me caught up in."

"Something your voices told you to do?"

(now the laughter come out unsuppressed)

"Ah fuck you! fuck all y'all, that shit ain't funny! (pause) So where YOU going?"

"I gotta go pick up my granddaughter from Burger King."

"Burger King? What the hell she doing at Burger King?"

"My stupid ass daughter took the baby down to Burger King and left him there with her father."

"What you mean that was a dropoff spot?"

"Hell no, he was WORKING!"

"What she think he was supposed was to with her while he was working/"

"How the fuck I know? I swear, my daughter is just plain DUMB! And she wonder why she ain't been gettin' no child support. Nigga just finally got a job, and she gon' try to mess it up by dropping the baby off there and leaving to go do whatever the fuck she went to do. I swear, your cousin is STUPID HO!"

"Shit, she ain't none-a my family, I ain't claiming her (laughing)"

"Oh, please, don't be acting like your crazy ass better than nobody, with you going back to court again."

Finally, after some back and forth bickering, the bus approached the courthouse, and the pair rose to get off.

"Good luck in court."

"Yeah, thanks, lemme see what lies this ghetto b____ gonna tell. Have fun with the baby."

"Shit, wait'll I get my hands on my dumb ass daughter."

And together the pair exited the bus, the voices-hearing miscreant wearing a stocking cap, hoodie, and some raggedy jeans as she headed to court, the loving grandma wearing a parka over her pajamas as she trudged off to pick up her grandchild and save her daughter's babydaddy from further risking his new-found career...

Conversations I've Overheard, 4th Edition

So I'm walking down the street and walking alongside me was a young lady talking (loudly) on her cell phone:

"He said WHAT???"

(pause while listening)

"Oh HELL NO! Just wait 'til I catch up with him; Imma be in his butt like a colonoscopy!"

Yikes...I sure wouldn't want to be that guy...ol' gurl was about to perform that procedure with no sedation and definitely no bedside manner...

The Way We Say the Things We Say..."SHIT" - the Ultimate Basis for Comparison

So I was out and about one evening, and I overheard a guy saying, "man, it's cold as shit out here!"

My first thought was If your shit's coming out cold, brother, you've got some serious problems...
My second thought was to think about how much people use "shit" as a basis for comparison:

• In the winter time, it's "cold as shit"; it the summer, it's "hot as shit"
• You ate a really nice meal: "wooo, that was good as shit!"
• You had a little too much to drink: "I was drunk as shit!"
• You watched a comedian you like: "Man, he was funny as shit!"
• Talking about someone who's not too bright: "He dumb as shit!"
• You just got finished taking a test: "Whew, that was hard as shit!"
• Describing someone that's not so attractive: "Dag, she ugly as shit!"
• Talking about an eccentric associate: "He crazy as shit"

Anyway, you get the idea. No matter how many times I hear something compared to shit, it amuses me. How did this happen? How did we get to comparing stuff to shit? I have no idea, but it fascinates me for some reason...

Well, enough of  this, I'm about to go to bed. It's getting late, and I'm tired as shit...