I'll Get You, Stall Number 1

Quite a while ago, I vented about the modern convenience of toilets equipped with sensors to automatically flush at the sign of any movement. Since then, I learned to deal with the excessive flushing. But recently, I changed my regular stall and am now regretting it.

My old stall of preference was stall number 3. My general impression is that everyone passes up the first stall (because who ever takes the first thing they see?) and usually opts for stall number 2. So, as a result, I used to take stall number 3 since I thought it was less used. But I was wrong. To my horror, I have often walked into stall number 3 to find used toilet seat covers still hanging on to the seat and urine on the floor. One too many times have I been burned with stall number 3 that I recently changed to stall number 1.

Now the problem I have is that stall number 1 doesn't flush enough. Whereas my old stall number 3 would flush when I got in the stall, once while I was going, and then again when I was done (I figured out how trigger it without manually flushing), stall number 1 will only flush once when I'm close to being done, and not again. It's the most aggravating thing to see toilet paper still floating in the bowl when I'm finished, and gives me no other choice but to manually flush the toilet by pressing on the idiotically small rubber button that's just an inch above the toilet seat.

I have now learned how to press, and hold, the little button with the corner of my shoe, using my talents in balance and thigh strength (I guess those one-legged squats I did in wushu really paid off!). While it's a nice little workout, I'm getting rather tired of it and am ready to try a new stall. But someday, I'll get you, stall number 1, and your rubber button too.

My Neighbor, Thumper

In the ever-changing world of an outsourced office environment, we are constantly letting go and hiring people. The cube next to mine has been empty for about a month now, and this week I got a new neighbor.

Now, the cubicle structure in my office is one that is supposed to encourage teamwork. Someone had the bright idea that if people had to stare at each other all day long, then they would have to work together and be "one team." As a result, the cube walls are only waist-high, and when sitting I have a clear view of my coworkers.

Which brings me to my new neighbor, Thumper. Thumper is friendly and kind, and has the vigor of a new employee. The thing about Thumper is that he thumps. On the keyboard. And I'm not just talking about your run of the mill heavy typer. Thumper is of the hunt-n-peck variety.

I noticed this characteristic the first day he started, but in just three short days, it is slowly starting to drive me crazy. From behind me, I can hear him tapping out an email, and, because of his hunt-n-peck style of typing, his thumps come in spurts. The only way I can describe it is "thump.......thump thump thump thump thump......(you can almost hear him thinking and his nose is now getting closer to the keyboard)....thump thump thump...."

Apparently, I was the only one to notice Thumper's loud habit. And now that I've pointed it out to my other cube neighbors (we sit in clusters of 6), it's starting to drive them a little bonkers too. Sometimes, just for fun, we'll start pounding on our keyboards, but Thumper is so in the zone typing his emails that he never notices.

Not only does Thumper thump on the keyboard, but we also discovered he's a heavy walker too and he's not a big guy (what is it with skinny heavy walkers, anyways?). Good thing he's just my neighbor at work and doesn't live in the apartment above mine.

What not to say to your employees

After much anticipation, bonuses were finally announced this week. With all the press my company was receiving in the media about how the "big bonus" was back, my colleagues and I were reasonably optimistic about our compensation. Unfortunately, we were sorely disappointed.

After presenting me with my compensation, my manager looked at my sad, sad face and said, "You don't look very happy." Now, anyone who knows me knows that I'm not one to hide my emotions. If I'm mad at you, you'll know. If I'm sad, you'll know. I'm not one to keep a person guessing. So, of course, my response to my manager was, "Well, I'm not."

After further discussion, my genius manager then made the following insightful comment: "Wow, I hope I didn't just unmotivate you with this." And if I thought that this review couldn't get any worse, he then went on to ask me how old I was. After some slight hesitation, I told him my age and he responded with, "Well, this is pretty good for a 26-year-old!" I'm sorry, but was that supposed to be motivating?

That night, my disappointment quickly turned into anger and resentment as I kept hearing "I hope I didn't unmotivate you" and "this is good for a 26-year-old!" over and over again in my head. If he hadn't unmotivated me from not compensating me well, he definitely managed to do so with his dumb-ass remarks during my review.

Never before had I felt more lied to by my senior management. I'm a rather naive and trusting person, but I could clearly see through all the BS reasons my manager gave behind the compensation decisions. And as a result of the unmotivating spiel that my manager delivered in hopes of keeping me productive, I have renewed energy to post on my blog, which helps me kill time during the day while remaining minimally productive.