Comfort Zoned

It's a sad state of affairs when you've spent such an enormous amount of time at work that you've become completely absorbed by your surroundings and forget where you are. It all becomes a blur. That water stain on the ceiling is now invisible, that pile of paperwork you were going to put away last year is covered in dust and the ignored notice on the bulletin board for the "ice cream social, bring your own spoon!" is 9 months old.

But what is perhaps the worst side effect of all, due to the inevitable morping into corporate drones that comes from day-in day-out laboring in the same cube farm, the ever-flattering fluorescent lighting pounding into the top of your head, and the oh-so-delightful decor in your tiny office, is your manners tend to disappear too. Familiarity is anesthesia for etiquette.

I don't know why more companies won't allow their employees to telecommute from home. It's a proven fact that it saves money and your various corporations could bask in the dillusional goodness that you're not sitting around in your unwashed sweats and stained t-shirts surfing porn and playing Doom instead of making work calls and answering business e-mails. I waste half the day reading blogs and playing solitaire as it is, I might as well be in the comfort of my own home and saving my co-workers from my new-found shame.

Spending the majority of your waking hours in office surroundings lends itself to a few bad habits, and I seem to have picked up all of them. Behaviors reserved for the privacy of your home start to bleed into your daily life. For instance, last week I got up to take a whiz. Normal enough. But as I walked out of my office into the hallway, one that I share with no less than 20 people, I noticed that I was a bit moist under the arm. Without taking a nanosecond to ponder the appropriateness of my next move, I whipped my right arm up and sniffed my pit.

WTF?

I immediately snapped back to reality and said to myself, self, WTF? Luckily I wasn't caught. Not that I would lay down and die if anyone saw me do that, but I have enough trouble with these people thinking I'm a loose cannon, they don't need to witness me smelling myself, making a face then administering self-admonisment outloud.

And just today it happened again. I was enjoying a decidedly substandard chicken cesar salad and diet coke from our crapateria and I felt some pressure rising in my gut. I've always been an excellent burper. It's a source of pride for me. I enjoy it and the reactions I get (especially from my mother, evil, evil). After I had surgery on my throat, they became even more powerful and impressive. However, expressing that particular bodily function with abandon does not belong at the office. Today I omitted that important little tidbit of information from the files and as I felt the soda bubble crawl up my neck I simply opened my mouth and let the cakehole cacophony fly.

WTF?

Thank dog my door was closed. But I must admit, this was not the first time I've done this and I suspect it won't be the last. (Alright, I'll fess up that it's actually really funny and if any of my super-square all corporate rah rah annoyingly ass-kissing coworkers did catch me ripping a huge burp I would giggle with devilish glee as they walked by all open-jawed and googly eyed. Ha! Take that, Poindexter Prissypants).

I wish I could end my admission here. But alas, there is more. I have also gone into a daze, staring at my monitor for endless hours and after feeling some low-level stirrings, absent-mindedly lifted an ass cheek off my chair only to hear the tell-tale frrrrrwwwwwppppp.

WTF??

Then there's scratching in inappropriate places, maayyyyyybeee a quick nose mining, chunky throat-clearing, gaping-maw yawning, zit popping, teeth flossing, and loudly yelling profanaties when the situation warrants. (I like that one too, even though I get in trouble. PFT, fucking Prissypants everywhere). And I have been caught with both hands down my pants readjusting my underwear, if you know what I mean. That's my story and I'm sticking to it, pervs.

On one hand, I can see how getting to this relaxed state of mind can save your sorry soul and numb the pain of asshole coworkers and jerkoff customers. When everything becomes a rote move and you can put your brain in neutral, coasting through the day. Such sweet relief. But on the other hand, it can be very embarrassing and even though I'm as fucking charming as a tiara wearin' debutante and therefore should be immune to general decorum standards, If I EVER saw my boss roughly pawing his twig and berries I'd have to quit. File for mental distress and sue. AND I DON'T NEED THE HASSLE!


BUUUURRRRRRPPPPPPP

'Scuse me.