ugh... I work in a shared office situation, including a guy there worked with me at my old job. "Skeeter" is what you'd call an extremely acquired taste. He's a belt tugging alpha male who knows everything and allegedly completed his punch card of the 50 coolest jobs in the world (kinda finished on a low note if you ask me). Personality wise; he's the yin to my socratic, pretend-to-know-nothing yang. Think John Candy as Dell Griffith from Planes, Trains and Automobiles, meets Don Knotts as Mr. Ferley from Three's Company, meets Burt Reynolds in that stupid fucking race car movie with Sylvester Stallone that I've never seen more than 5 minutes of but I just know in the bowels of my soul must be stupider than a brain damaged Newfoundland with a crystal meth contact high. Yeah; he's THAT guy.
Role-wise, he's the office manager for his company. So we use a shared T1, which goes down with alarming regularity. Once again, it goes down. Skeeter's job is to barge into my office 10 minutes later and interrupt me to ask me if I was trying to use the internet. Yeah asshole; I saw that connect to server message, but I've been spending last 10 minutes of my life trying to get onto friendster anyway. He proceeds to periodically announce to the hallway that the Internet is down. Of course we're on a need to know basis. I finally ask him if he knows what's wrong and when he thinks we'll be back online. He just stares at me like I asked him if his head was carved out of a solid block of black licorice or vulcanized rubber. No response. I finally leave and try to work from home. The worst part is he's one of those "private schedule" friends. Meaning he has a schedule, one that only he is privvy to, that dictates when he is going to be a nice guy, and when he's gonna be a douche. I'd rather he just be a dick all the time, than have to deal with his stinky bottom tomorrrow when he wants to be all chummy. That's why I have 3 friends - its all I can handle being consistently nice too. That, and those are the only dudes I could find who don't totally hate my guts.
I think I'm gonna talk to Ryan about that open office space he knows about. Another plus, besides the absence of douchebags, is that it can't be more than a mile from my golf course.
Kvetching over; we return you to your regularly scheduled bitching.