Spies at Work

It’s not just the NSA that’s spying on you.  Okay, on me.  

My coworkers are spying on me.  Probably you, too.  

Not my coworkers.  YOUR coworkers.  On you.

Let’s start again.  I know my coworkers are spying on me.  I know this because when I spy on them, they are always throwing me accusatory glances over their shoulders, as if to say “two can play at that game!” They are always walking up behind me when I’m using the computer for non-official matters, such as planning my next vacation, with, like, 63 Mobissimo screens all stacked up so that I can’t close them fast enough.  (Ed. note: “like” was misused just now, but that’s a topic for another post.)  Or checking the weather or reading the Washington Post (although not so much anymore now that they make me pay to read it on line) or googling my coworker’s names.  My coworkers like sneaking up on me like this. (Ed. note:  that’s better.) I think they want my job, since I have so much time to use the computer for non-official matters. But the spying gets old!

Like the time I was reading a hilarious article in the online version of The Economist.  (Note another appropriate use of “like,” just in case you thought I was a 17 year old girl.  And note the absurd reference to The Economist.)  It was about how Zach Galifianakis brought about the down fall of, or at least almost, the murderous Myanmar regime. Through the overwhelming power of laughter.  I’m pretty sure the article was a joke, or even completely fictitious, because, I mean, who ever heard of Myanmar?  And Zach is only funny when you’re high, right? I’m sure if there were such a place as Myanmar, they wouldn’t have anything to do with drugs. Ergo, we were all “punked” (can I still say that?  I’m not a 17 year old girl you know) by The Economist.

Anyway, a coworker who is extremely passive aggressive came up behind me just as I was shooting coffee out of my nose and said “what’s so funny?” and then started laughing at me!  I was in no mood for the question or the laughter, being in excruciating pain after shooting hot coffee out of my nose.  It was McDonalds coffee (I’m cheap, but I like my coffee HOT) and I’m considering legal action against both McDonalds AND The Economist.  I feel I have precedent on my side.  But not against Zach.  He’s not funny.  

I turned to my coworker, my mucous membranes streaming over my lips, tears in my eyes, rage in my heart, and said, “nothing.  Just, you know, these latest numbers,” referring, of course, to the NUMBERS everyone in my office is always concerned about.  They are rarely funny, but never mind.  I was in a pickle.

“But that looks like The Economist,” my coworker said.  He’s old, so I thought he couldn’t see that far.  But, much to my chagrin, he had on bifocals.  Damn you Benjamin Franklin!  “Did you see last month’s article,” he went on, “about Silvio Berlusconi’s collection of restaurant match books?  It doesn’t sound that funny, but the writing!” 

I insisted that I was reviewing the latest number.  But he persisted. “I directly accuse you of wasting time surfing the internet and reviewing reading material that is totally unrelated to your work,” he said in that annoying, passive aggressive way of his.  “What on earth are you driving at?” I responded.  “I will now denounce you to management.” he finished.  Well, since I don’t like these kinds of veiled threats, I simply turned back to my computer, took another sip of coffee, and shot it out my nose again.  What else could I do?

The point is that there are things you can do to avoid being denounced by coworkers as being lazy or a coffee-nose-shooting goof-off.  First, don’t have a job, which may necessitate certain other life style changes, but this strategy cuts the problem off at the metaphorical pass.  (I like that - announcing when I’m using a metaphor.)

If you must have a job, tie a piece of fishing line across the entrance of  your cube at ankle height.  Anyone trying to sneak up on you will trip and fall into the back of your chair.  You can then scream obscenities at this person for hitting you, perhaps even accuse him or her of work place violence.  It’s better if this person is carrying a cup of coffee at the time and burns you.

The most insidious of work-place spies is the quiet lurker.  He’s there, hand atop your cube wall, silently watching you.  You don’t notice him for some time as you continue to shop for fishing line, and then, suddenly, a cold shiver runs up your spine and you see him out of the corner of your eye, just standing there, a smirk on his face. You’re so startled that you shoot coffee out of your nose, even though you weren’t drinking coffee, which is quite a feat!  How long has he been there? Perhaps he does that many times a day, quietly staring at you and then slipping away unnoticed.  Perhaps this is the only time you’ve caught him.  Disturbing, isn’t it?  No length of fishing line will help you now.  Unless you garret him.  I’m not advocating murder, but maybe soon.

“Jesus Mike!  You scared the shit out of me!” you say.

The other thing about Mike the Lurker that makes him extra creepy is that he mumbles, forcing you to say “what? WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY?”

And then you’re the one screaming obscenities across the work place.  Granted not for the first time, but one of these times will be the last time.  I think Mike wants your job and will stop at nothing to get you fired.

But maybe that’s a good thing. Then you’ll be following my first bit of advice and only have to worry about the NSA.  And since they are a large, wasteful, inefficient federal bureaucracy, metaphorically speaking, I’m not too worried.