Have you ever had one of those jobs that punished you for being efficient? Have you ever worked in a place that stifled your passions and your skill? I have.

Once upon a time I had a job (yes, I know that comes as a surprise to many of you). And I was pretty darn good at that job too. Alright. I’m going to put my modesty on hold for just a moment… I was AMAZING at that job.

But just like any other job that we’re amazing at, there were bosses that were…well…not so amazing.

At this particular time of my employment, my supervisors were especially concerned about money. So much in fact, that they were going to pinch pennies wherever they could, particularly in our paychecks. It all began with my immediate supervisor, who had a penchant for being…how do I phrase it…”extraordinarily attentive to detail.”

He thought it was a bright idea to keep a detailed log of my hours worked. Since we were responsible for reporting our own hours, I felt as though my integrity was being called into question. So being the exceptionally honest young man that I am, I decided to fill my time cards down to the exact minute that I was clocking in and out.

It was really quite grand. I utilized all of my high school math knowledge to record every minute of every day and every fraction of every cent I was on the clock. Obviously it was the honest thing to do, and proving a point to my director had absolutely nothing to do with it. Obviously.

That little experiment lasted about a two or three pay periods before my supervisor had to expressly tell me to round to the nearest 15min. He never bothered to record my hours after that. Success.

Only a couple years later however, a new supervisor was making the rounds. This one was new at her job, and had decided that in order for her to keep her new position, she was going to have to find ways to cut costs and save lots and lots of money. Considering how good she was at her job, she was probably right…

And so came the mandate concerning overtime hours. We were asked to avoid exceeding our weekly allotment of hours no matter the consequence. We must save money. Never mind that it was at this exact moment that my coworkers and I were bringing in more revenue than ever before. Didn’t matter. We must keep our hours to a minimum. No matter the cost.

Well, funny thing about that job. In order to keep our operating licence for our site, we were required to have a certain number of employees on site at all times. And due to the desperate frenzy to cut costs, additional workers were never hired. So we were left with an interesting choice to make.

Do we:

A.) Work the hours needed to abide by our state laws and regulations?

B.) Leave work and risk losing our licence for the sake of limiting our weekly quota of hours?

C.) Runaway screaming like a helpless child?

D.) All of the above.

Needless to say, I and my coworkers chose the one that was required by state law. And our bosses seemed to tolerate that choice. Or so I thought. Until the time came to fill out my time card.

The official word came down. Nobody was to report any hours that surpassed the maximum number for either the daily or weekly hours of a full-time employee. There would be no overtime hours. None. Time-and-half would not be tolerated.

Yes, that’s right. I was specifically asked to lie on my time card so that I wouldn’t be paid as much money.

I wish this was one of my literary exaggerations. I wish this was a clever retelling of the way I interpreted past events. But that wasn’t the case. I was clearly told to report fewer hours than I had worked, so that I would be paid less money.

Needless to say (being the young man of integrity that I am), I was not going to submit to this particular order. I was not going to lie, nor was I going to do so so that I could receive less than the wages I had earned.

I mean really…was I the only one that saw the complete absurdity of this? Was I the only one that saw the rights and freedoms of my young and naive coworkers being manipulated and trampled upon by bosses who were clearly trying to remain in the good graces of the higher ups and serve their own career paths?

And so, I refused. Not only that, but I encouraged my coworkers to report nothing less than the hours they had worked.

I spoke with two different supervisors that day, until finally I was informed that the head honcho herself would be calling me to “discuss” this apparent issue. Frankly I didn’t see anything that needed to be discussed. I worked. I reported. Now pay up.

The phone call came, and my very false and patronizing supervisor questioned me about what the “problem” was. Knowing she could do nothing else but submit to federal law, she agreed that “of course we would NEVER ask you to LIE on your time card!” She was however, betrayed by the reverberation in her voice vacillating between false sympathies and antagonistic frustration.

Feeling much like Jimmy Hoffa, I stated in no uncertain terms that I would report my hours as I worked them, and that the company would pay my overtime hours, as well as the hours of my coworkers. My boss could do nothing but [reluctantly] agree. And so the phone call ended, without my ever really knowing what needed to be “discussed.”

It should come as no surprise, that I chose not to stay at that job much longer.

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Alright. I’ve had it. You’ve had it. There’s one in every workplace. This needs to be addressed.

What is up with these people?? Seriously. Some of them are always hot. Some of them are always cold. C’mon people, this isn’t Goldilocks and the Three Bears. You don’t get to dictate to the rest of us the thermostat.

All of you have experienced the inevitable battle of the thermostat. I’m here to help you. You see, I’m on the internet (in case you hadn’t noticed, you’re reading this on the internet). Thus, I am an authority on whatever subject I choose to write about. Kind of like Wikipedia, except far more opinionated and with cooler hair.

So here you go. This is the official word from the internet. Feel free to cite it as needed.

The perfect inside temperature is 72 degrees. Your thermostat should be set at 72 degrees. That is where it should be. Don’t argue with me. Don’t try to convince me otherwise. I am the all-powerful and mighty internet. My word is law. So let it be written, so let it be done.

You’re welcome.

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I think we’ve all had a “work crush” or two. I’ve certainly had my share. There was the classy blond with the dimples who used to come in to my work sometimes. I bet she had no idea I used to dress extra nice on the days she showed up. Or that her dimples had the power to make me her slave.

Then of course there was the coworker who’s flirtatious games made me linger at work for hours. Playful banter and secret glances at the purple chair. Oh, that enticing purple chair…

Further back I can remember coworkers and girls at conferences with smiles that made me excited to go to work every morning.

So why does THE MAN try to prevent us from reaching our romantic potential in the workplace?? Are we really so unproductive when we’re twitterpated? Why is dating our coworkers such a bad thing? Sure, maybe all those flirtatious glances and knowing eyes can be distracting, but think of the upswing in office morale! Workers who WANT to come to work! What company or business wouldn’t want that?? I really think I’m on to something here. This could shape a new world of American business! Embracing and encouraging inter-office relationships. I may have single-handedly saved the future of the world economy!!

Unless of course there’s a messy breakup… In which case, I can see why dating in the workplace might be discouraged.

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Oh silly office politics… I never understood this particular unspoken code of office etiquette. If you’re done with your work, then go home. GO HOME. Do it. Do it now. I don’t care who looks at you funny. I don’t care if your coworkers see you leaving early and decide to plot against you from this moment onward. It’s not worth it. You’re done with your work. You should be rewarded, not punished by sitting around aimlessly while your slow and inefficient office mates blunder through their meaningless tasks at a verifiable snail’s pace. Who cares what they think anyway? If they had any brains to begin with they would have figured out how to finish their day’s work before 5pm. Just sayin’.

Go home. Trust me. You deserve this.

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Muffin top. Spare tire. Sausage roll. Sometimes, when I’m sitting at my desk working, I can actually feel myself getting fatter. I can see my gut growing in slow motion. Laughing at me. Mocking me. Taunting me like a rabid monkey. I hate you desk job. I hate you and your fat-inducing ways. I hate everything you stand for.

Turns out it isn’t really age or slowing metabolisms that makes us fatter. It’s that stupid no-good desk job. As if you needed further evidence that your desk jobs are really the brainchild of Satan himself. I say we revolt. If we all overturn our stupid pointless desk jobs we can create a new world order of happy sunshine and trim midsections. Come, be united with our cause. Join us.

Ugh… I need to get to the gym.

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I always hate it when the boss comes in to observe you working. I mean c’mon…I’m there, I’m getting it done, I’m doing a good job. But when the boss comes in and starts looking over your shoulder or stands at the back of the room and observes, it’s a little nerve racking. You start trying to do anything you can think of just to look busy. Click around on that computer screen. Mutter to yourself in the hall about all the work there is to do. Shuffle and re-reorganize those papers. Anything to keep the boss from studying you too close.

Because no one needs the added pressure of THE MAN hovering over you. Even if you are doing an outstanding job at your work (and I’m sure that you are), what if you aren’t doing that particular task using the bosses preferred methods? The world might just come to an end. Seriously.

We all know why bosses are bosses- It’s because they can’t fathom anyone doing anything in a different manner other than the one in which they envisioned it. Obviously. It’s the same reason why I’ll be such a great boss someday. Only I won’t hover over my employees and look over their shoulders. I’ll just watch them from my secret underground lair.

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You know what? Your system IS dumb. I’m a little sick of it. I went to grade school. I went to Junior High and High School. I was told I NEEDED to go to college because you just can’t make a decent living without a college degree. So I went to college. And when I got to college I was told I had to take this class, and that class, and fulfill this requirement, and spend a ton of money on these books that I would never actually read or even open.

Well I did all that. And after a few years and tens of thousands of dollars later I walked out of college with a fancy piece of paper and a couple of letters to put on my resume. And guess what? I’m still making the same amount of money as I was making before college. The only difference is there is a heck of a lot less money in my bank account after spending so much money on a college “education.”

So I’m here to tell you that your system is dumb. Your system is broken. The system has effectively drained my financial resources all while keeping me out of the work force for that much longer. So not only am I broke, but I also don’t have as many years of work experience in my related fields. So yeah. Thanks a lot for that academia. At least I learned how to write really witty essays and get perfect scores on them in my college English classes. Oh wait…all those essays I wrote were actually ones I reused from high school…

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This totally sort of kind of happened to me once. Totally. I was working this temp job, and they had a luncheon. I didn’t know about it ahead of time (nobody tells the temp these things), but my boss came around and let me know that I was indeed invited to take part in the festivities. That was nice, although looking back it would have been really awkward if they hadn’t invited me, and the entire office went into the conference room to eat catered food while I sat alone at a desk in the cubicles and did mundane button pushing temp work. So yeah. I guess that was nice…

I seemed doomed to encounter an awkward moment that day. Maybe it was because I was just the office temp and didn’t know too many people in the office. Maybe it was because no one had bothered to inform me of the luncheon ahead of time and everyone else had dressed nicely leaving me underdressed by comparison. Or maybe the awkwardness was just written in the stars.

I managed through the lunch alright. I made small talk wherever I could. I struck up a meaningless but enjoyable conversation with someone in another department. I tried to take small bites of my food to make it last longer and to keep my mouth busy. It was nice of them I thought, to include me in this luncheon. Maybe they really did like me. Maybe when my temp work was completed they would consider hiring me on full-time! I felt like part of the team.

But then the inevitable awkwardness arrived. It was decided that they would be taking an office picture. I felt terribly out of place and wasn’t sure what to do. I had been doing temp work in this office for a couple months, but I wasn’t a permanent employee. Should I be in the picture? Should I not be in the picture? Should I run out of the room and hide prior to the taking of said picture? Aaaaaand panic. I felt that no matter what I did, things were going to be awkward and uncomfortable. I was right.

My first impulse was to suggest that I take the picture myself. I’m not such a bad photographer. They’d probably be happy to let me take the picture, and then I can avoid any unnecessary awkwardness. I offered to take the photograph. But the camera owner insisted we could have it on a timer. “We can both be in the picture.”

I subtly expressed hesitation to another office worker. She seemed certain I should be standing in the picture. Why wouldn’t I stand in the picture??

There was no escaping now.  Two people had already declared or assumed that I was going to stand in the picture. The door was way across the room. People were already beginning to stand in rows. Oh why hadn’t I made a clean break for the bathroom when I’d had the chance?!?

And so carefully and with great caution, I stood in the picture. Only then did one of the leaders of the office seem to notice me. My heart sank as I watched the confusion and alarm spread across his face. What was this TEMP doing in the picture?? This would not be tolerated. Anxiety flowed through my veins. I had made the wrong choice.

They took a couple of photos before I was asked to leave the picture. Yes. That’s right…I was actually asked to step out of the picture. I was declared unworthy for the office photograph.

I wish I could say the situation hadn’t bothered me. I mean really, it was a photo, who cares? Awkward situations such as this happen all the time. It’s not like I was planning on framing the picture by my bedside. But the truth is for some reason, I was deeply hurt by the experience. I remember my entire day being changed after that moment, and I couldn’t shake the embarrassment or the feeling of rejection. The fact that I was feeling this way over a stupid office photograph only added to my frustration.

I worked silently at my desk, trying desperately to will the clock to pass through time at accelerated paces. Across the room hung a bulletin board with office photos and a feel-good motivational banner that read “We Are Family!”  The irony pierced through me and ignited under my skin.

I was sick of being a temp. I was sick of being a worthless and lowly individual unfit to be trusted with a REAL job or with REAL work or even with standing in stupid office photographs. I was sick of working for meager pay and without benefits, because I somehow hadn’t managed to get into the “full-time” club. I was sick of  temporary employers telling me how wonderful I am or what great work I’m doing only to avoid eye contact with me and hem and haw when I asked them about being hired on full time. I was sick of feeling the judging eyes of friends and family who fancy themselves skilled at reading people, who conclude through their false and inept discernments that I must just be lazy, or lack the proper intellect, talents, or skills. I was sick of being patronized and treated as an unequal.

I’m smart dammit.

The days and weeks passed without further incidence. In truth, I doubt anyone in the office had even the slightest inkling of my inner turmoil on that particular day. The initial anger and embarrassment subsided, and I was treated pleasantly enough for the remainder of my tenure. The hurt I felt really had absolutely nothing to do with photographs, office luncheons, or even that particular office. But it had everything to do with self worth, and that was really the only thing that mattered.

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I’ve never written a fake note from my doctor to get out of work before. But once upon a time I was known to…”avoid” going to school on some days. Especially on my birthday. As a youth I always made it a point to skip school on my birthday. I figured it was the best present I could give myself. I figured I deserved a day off. I figured anything really, to avoid another day of mind numbing boredom.

My days off were always highly enjoyable. Unless of course you, the person reading this, happen to be under the age of 18. In which case, it was not enjoyable at all. You shouldn’t ever skip school. In fact, I pity the fool who doesn’t stay in school. I could never condone such school skipping behavior… -cough-

I always prepared for my days of school cutting by preparing myself emotionally. I tried to channel Ferris Bueller and Parker Lewis into my soul. I would create lists of things that I would be doing on my day of absence. I notified my teachers ahead of time that I would not be in school on that particular day and would have to take my English midterm at another point in time. I simply explained that I would be on vacation for that particular day. They always complied with my request. Yup. Some of those student-teacher English teachers weren’t all that bright.

Once a particular vice principal carelessly left some summons slips lying around his office. He was also careless enough to leave his signature stamp and ink pad lying around as well. That’s pretty careless. I mean really. What was I supposed to do?? I swear some of these teachers make these sorts of things all too easy. Naturally I had no choice but to tear off a few summons slips and take the liberty of stamping them with his signature. I kept them hidden away for a rainy day. Bona fide get-out-of-class cards. All I had to do was have a friend deliver them to my classroom at the beginning of the period to “summon” me away and I’d be out of there just after roll call. Trigonometry just got a whole lot easier to deal with.

Say what you will about my young adolescent school habits. But you have to admit, I certainly learned something.

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How to make your mundane button pushing job just a little more exciting, as written by someone who’s been there:

First, position yourself so that you have a decent view of the bathroom doors. You need an unobstructed view to really be an impartial judge. Strive for a direct line of sight. If it’s going to be a problem for you, you should either request a cubicle change, or employ the intern who gets the crappy desk right next to the bathroom. And don’t tell me your intern isn’t sitting next to the bathroom. The intern ALWAYS has to sit next to the bathroom.

Next, get yourself a pen and paper and write down everyone’s name in the office. Only don’t write their REAL names. That would ruin the fun and take away the integrity of what we’re doing. You have to create a nickname for everyone in the office. Bonus points if they sound like horse names. You don’t want anyone who stumbles across your list to really know what they’ve found. Here are some I’ve used throughout my many office jobs of the past: Streaks, Bossman, Secret Life, Giggles, Smoker’s Cough, Young Buck, Non-descriptive Blond, Velvet, Smiles (who never EVER smiled by the way), Odd Duck, Big Big P, Blondie, Brit, 30-something J, Grandma (who surprisingly NEVER used the facilities according to my records), Classy, Tall Dark, Cutie, Goldhunter, and “Kevin” who wasn’t really named Kevin, but reminded me of a Kevin.

Now the fun begins. AND THEY’RE OFF! The bathroom races have begun! Keep track throughout your day of the number of visits each person makes to the bathroom. Some people will surprise you by how little or how frequently they go. A few will raise concern about their medical health.

Take bets on the races from bathroom savvy gamblers. Email your friends outside of the office or instant message them. Allow them to place bets on their horses. After a couple of weeks of this you can give people odds.

At the end of each week tally up the results and name the winner. Distribute winnings as appropriate. Congratulate the winning bathroom racer without actually telling them what event they won and watch their confusion. It’s a great way to start your weekend. Trust me.

The Bathroom Races can be played is all types of jobs and work environments, and is a great way to liven up your day. You’ll be amazed at how excited you get at the end of the week when things come down to the wire, and surprise candidates make their final push down the homestretch. You probably want to avoid having any photo finishes though. Those sexual harassment seminars are no fun.

At this moment I’d like to congratulate Odd Duck, who was the Grand Bathroom Derby winner, after an amazing come from behind victory, just edging out Big Big P and Bossman, who had more overall visits to the bathroom than anyone else, but only managed to be the week’s champion once.

Please cash in your tote tickets at the window.

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