Chaotic Not Random

A BRIEF SUMMARY OF PEOPLE I AVOID AT WORK

Annoying Receptionist: Like most of the people on this list, Annoying Receptionist has nothing of interest to say. This does not, unfortunately, stop her from using her throat, mouth, and tongue to create sound patterns that grate against my cerebral cortex.

Avoidance Strategy: Annoying Receptionist is easy to elude, because she only works half-days and spends most of that time in the front reception area. Earlier this year, however, when I was without a car and riding the bus to work, I was horrified to find that Annoying Receptionist often took the same bus I did. She was delighted, of course, to have someone to listen to her prattle about her own transportation problems while I gritted my teeth and mumbled "hm" and "uh huh." I used to run into Annoying Receptionist in the breakroom, where she eats lunch at 2:00. She would always ask, "How's your car?" and I would answer, "Ohhh, it's running!" and look for the nearest exit. I now avoid the breakroom between 2:00 and 2:16.
The Chatterbox: Unlike Annoying Receptionist, who takes a passive approach to ruining my day, The Chatterbox uses an invasive technique. She specializes in standing in the entrance of her target's cubicle and leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. This is a devastating tactic -- the gesture of leaning against the wall says clearly, "I intend to be here for quite a while, nattering away about nothing."

You might think it impossible to emit from one's mouth a steady stream of words that amount to zero, but I assure you The Chatterbox achieves this astonishing feat without apparent effort or strain. I have had several lengthy conversations with The Chatterbox, and I can remember the principal topic of none of them. Well, that's not true. The Chatterbox once brought coffee cake for breakfast, and I made the mistake of telling her it tasted good. We then discussed coffee cake for twenty minutes while I fantasized about saying, "Do you think you could get a better pair of breasts? That way I could have something to look at while I nod my head and smile blankly."

Avoidance Strategy: Because she attacks coworkers at their workstations, making her impossible to elude without quitting my job, I adopted the scorched-earth countermeasure of being a rude asshole -- turning my back on her mid-conversation, for example. This brutal tactic has worked admirably; The Chatterbox never approaches my cubicle for conversation any more, and if I pass her in the hallway she smiles nervously and glances at the floor. I'm sure I'll feel bad about this someday in the event that I develop a soul.
Mr. Manners: Tall, slender, and neatly dressed, Mr. Manners wears a nicely trimmed mustache and a respectable bit of gray around his temples. He has a girl's name. He is a very nice man. "Hello, Kilgore," he says when we pass each other in the hallway, "how are you?" It's the how are you? that burns me. We both walk fast, so by the time I say, "Fine, how are you?" he's too far away to answer or even hear me. This makes me feel even lamer than I usually feel. A simple greeting suffices for a hallway encounter -- why does he have to ask how I am? Is it rhetorical? Should I not answer at all?

Avoidance Strategy: If I'm at a hallway junction, I will sometimes take an alternate route. This makes me feel lamest of all, because I'm avoiding a polite person. What the hell is wrong with me?
A Woman Scorned: I fucked her. She went psycho. I dumped her. Crying occurred. Goddammit! I would do it again, though.

Avoidance Strategy: Fortunately, A Woman Scorned is tall enough to see over the cubicle walls, making her easier to elude. Chance meetings are inevitable, however, given A Woman Scorned's random hall-roaming schedule. In case of emergency, I adopt a neutral expression and stare straight ahead.
The Hag: Also know as The Old Lady. You may recall reading of our past skirmishes here and here. The Hag is my most daunting and persistent workplace opponent. In the two years I've worked at my present job, I've come to respect The Hag in the way that bitter foes -- like Frazier and Ali -- often grudgingly respect one another.

The Hag is somewhere between 65 and 3,000 years old. While stooped with age and fragile in body, she employs flawless fundamentals and the cunning of a veteran. She waits in the breakroom for unsuspecting prey, posting herself near the refrigerators and microwaves. Once she spots a target rummaging through the refrigerator or waiting for lunch to heat up, she attacks with a array of witless conversation openers, like "What's for lunch?" or "My son has a shirt just like that one." She then drags her victim into a dull, rambling conversation involving much frozen smiling and glancing at the clock. Her execution is both impressive and chilling to witness, like watching a Pro Bowl pass rusher drive a rookie quarterback's face into the turf.

Avoidance Strategy: Defense, defense, defense! My most basic stratagem is to never enter the breakroom when The Hag is in there. Fortunately, the doors to the breakroom have windows, so I always glance through before entering to make sure the area is clear. If I only intend to use the vending machines, located on the far end of the breakroom opposite the refrigerators, I use the far doors and buy my Hostess Chocolate Frosted Donettes safely outside The Hag's range. Occasionally I find myself in the breakroom with The Hag, either because I failed to adequately inspect the area beforehand, or more likely because the crafty bitch entered the room after me. In these cases, I keep my back to The Hag as much as possible and avoid eye contact -- even peripheral eye contact -- at all costs. If The Hag succeeds in initiating conversation, I keep my responses as short as possible and head for the exit. Sometimes I even leave my Sausage Pizza Hot Pocket in the microwave.