Dear Coworker-

Hey how’s it goin?  Listen, I know I come off as a bit of an arrogant asshole sometimes and, yes, I realize it’s rude to not even bother learning your name, but still there are some things we need to talk about so I’d appreciate it if you’d just listen to what I have to say with an open mind.  Cool?  Great.

So, I know this seems crazy but if I’m talking to someone on the phone, it’s actually not a good time for you to come into my office, asking me three questions, one right after the other.  See, when you do that, what happens is, I don’t hear a fucking word you’re saying, and I can’t hear what the person on the other end of the phone is saying.  That’s right, and – what?  No, no, I realize you weren’t thinking about the person on the other end of the line, or, for that matter, me or anyone other than yourself.  And that’s why your behavior is so despicable.  Because when you pull that shit, you’re not going to accomplish anything for yourself and you’re preventing the other people in the equation from accomplishing anything for themselves.  Basically your presence in my office is 100% destructive and stupid.  So if you could, you know, not do that, that’d be great.

Also, it doesn’t help matters when you stop at my door and just stare at me while I talk.  Again, I know this seems ridiculous, but staring at me won’t get the person on the other end of the line to talk any faster and it won’t get me to tell him or her to fuck off and hang up the phone (or whatever stupid Jedi mind trick you appear to be going after).  Yeah.  All that does is make me think you’re an idiot.  No, no, I realize you aren’t an idiot, but it makes me think that you are.  So it’d be best if you didn’t do that anymore either.  Make sense?  Good.

What else?  Oh.  Small request:  Please don’t ever show me the dolphin tattoos on your breasts again.  And if you could keep the noise level down, that’d be nice too.  My God, every time you laugh its like a sonic fucking boom.  Just tone it down a bit, would you?

Also?  I don’t care how unfairly treated you are and I never will.  It doesn’t matter to me that Lee never gives you a day off when you want one and I certainly don’t care that Joanne is trying to destroy you.  Just suck it up and do your fucking job, goddammit.

And uhm…oh boy…look there’s no easy way to say this so I’m just going to say it as plainly and as simply as possible:  You smell bad.  Seriously, it’s really fucking bad.  I mean, sure, we all have bad days.  Just last week I overslept and had to come to work unshowered and unshaved.  Shit happens.  But with you, it smells like shit’s happening in your pants.  I don’t care what the reason is, so please don’t bother telling me.  Just…look, when you go home tonight, wash all your clothing and take a long, hot shower.  And then go to the store and get some deodorant or some scented lotion or some fucking thing.  And some Febreeze.  Then come home, spray the fuck out of your newly washed clothes with the Febreeze and put on whatever deodorant or lotion you bought.  Do this every night for the rest of your life.  It’s not fair that a percentage of my salary has to go to scented fucking candles.  I fucking hate scented candles.

Oh, here’s one that seems like it would be common sense:  Make a little noise when you’re approaching me.  Clear your throat or say, “Hey, you got a minute?”  Anything other than creeping up to me in your silent ninja mode and then staring at me, like you’re staring into my soul or something, until I happen to look up at you.  That shit gives me a fucking heart attack every goddamn time you do it, so knock it the fuck off.  Jesus Christ, how can anyone who eats a third of a cheese wheel every night be so fucking quiet, anyway?  It’s just disturbing.

And one last thing:  You seem to have made a lifestyle out of not listening to people.  One of the reasons you’re not going to last more than a month here is because you never fucking listen…to anyone.  That’s also why I haven’t bothered learning your name yet, by the way.  There are literally dozens of better uses of my time than committing to memory the name of someone I won’t know three weeks from now.  I digress.  This whole not listening thing…okay, sure, there are plenty of times when I don’t pay attention to what other people are saying.  Like that charming story about your 4 year old the other day, that’s a perfect example.  But what fucking floors me – I mean what really makes my fucking head want to spin right off my neck – is when you come up to me, ask me a question, and then don’t listen to the fucking answer!  What in the unholy infinite fuck is that all about?!  If you ask me a question and then talk over me while I answer, don’t you realize you’ll be back in my office five minutes later asking the same motherfucking thing?  Well?  Don’t you?  Don’t y-

You’re not listening are you?

*bashes face into a mirror*

About

Tim Hatch lives in a secret volcano headquarters somewhere in the South Pacific, where he controls the world economy and writes confessional poetry about his disappointing childhood.

His poetry has been published in MungBeing, East Jasmine Review, The Pacific Review, The Vehicle, Touch: The Journal Of Healing, Apeiron Review, and he is the recipient of the 2014 Felix Valdez Award.

He finds writing about himself in the third person to be an overtly seductive invitation to tell lies.

He once captured a French Eagle at Talavera.

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