And Since I No Longer Work There

Which at this point in my life, could be several banks, mortgage companies, the FDIC and at least one retail shop. I have some bizarre wonderful co-worker stories. I'll reserve the right to change a few details to avoid prosecution identification. (Look at me, I found the "scratch that" font.)

As a preface, let me first state that if I mention someone's race/ethnicity/gender/stupidity or any other outstanding noticeable differences it does NOT mean I have issues with the particular trait, only that it's important to explain the storyline. I'll try to leave out those details, but if you figure that trait out all on your own, I bear no responsibility.

Ok, here goes.

When I asked him, Chang told me he had been in America 26 years.

Well, at least I THINK that is what he said.

The cubes in the office were just about the height of my head, which meant little privacy. Chang sat on the opposite side of my cube wall. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear every big SLURP of coffee, water, coke, soup. Did I say slurp, no I meant slurpS.

Not kidding. It was especially bad because the slurps would come in waves. Thirty or so within thirty seconds. Rest a couple minutes and it would start all over again. Every slurp felt like someone would jam 100k volts through my back.

At lunchtime, he would prepare this at his desk:

You can imagine the smell that would wash over me like a wave.  I finally brought in two small fans and directed the smell up and over to one of my buddies that sat with an open cube next to Chang.

Immediately behind Chang, sat Cliff Clavin.  For those of you that may be too young to remember who that is, he was the mailman on Cheers that would sit around the bar spouting things like this:


Cliff: "Well ya see, Norm, it's like this. A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members. In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Excessive intake of alcohol, as we know, kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine. That's why you always feel smarter after a few beers."


(Sorry, tried to find a great video of Cliff, but sadly few seem to exist that show off his vast knowledge.) 
Anyway.

Cliff had been married to a Russian woman, which made him know even more about the world than the rest of us. Well, except we had Indians, Brazilians, Ukrainians, and Taiwanese. Oh and Chinese. There was an extreme amount of "English as a second language" in the office. But Cliff knew more about their cultures than they did. He once told the Chinese guy that he was “clean for a Chinese man” and told the sweet Indian lady behind me that she was “lighter skinned than most Indians”. Obviously Cliff is now divorced.
 
Behind Cliff was a deaf lady. She wore hearing aids, but would take them out most of the day. Many of us envied her disability as the chaos reigned down around us.

Behind the deaf lady was a very argumentative, loud yet witty Ukrainian. He had been friends with Cliff for decades. They argued like a couple in a very bad marriage.

Mr. Ukraine and Chang didn’t speak to each other often, but when they did, a huge argument would ensue. I have to explain that Chang had serious issues with the English language. It was universally impossible to understand about 4 out of 5 words he spoke. Consequently, everyone he spoke to would stand there with a “deer in the headlights” look. It was extremely entertaining to watch it happening to anyone but me. He was extremely, overly, unbelievably nice to everyone (with Mr. Ukraine being the exception), so I really did feel badly that he drove me absolutely insane.

Making it even worse was the fact that I honestly believed Chang wasn’t odd because he was from a different culture or could barely speak English. Having looked up the symptoms, I believe he may have been suffering from a mild form of Asperger’s Syndrome. He had the physical and mental conditions that matched exactly. I know, I know. I’m a horrible person but you didn’t have to work next to him 40+ hours a week.

Between my cube and the printer stood a shredder bin. Everyone shared the same printer. One day Chang shuffled back from the printer corner and very politely asked me, “Reetaa, how woiaroa ownguuu fowta shred?” He stood with papers in his hands. I figured it out. “Oh, you need to shred some papers?” Bowing his head up and down, he said, “Yes. Yes.”

I took him back around from where he just came and showed him the shredder bin.

He politely, very politely thanked me profusely. Then…..

He looked into the slot of the bin and looked confused. He looked back up at me and began to move both hands back and forth, miming a perfect imitation of a paper shredder.

“But, how does it shred?” My conscience is dealing me a huge blow right now. I know he means well, I understand he’s a nice man. I took a deep breath and said very slowly, “Chang. It doesn’t shred. It’s a BIN. They shred the paper somewhere else. This is where you place the paper to be shredded.”

Again, he nods his heads in agreement and thanks me. Twice.

Then bent down again and looked at the slot.

And again. Said. “But....how does it shred?” And again, making his Edward Scissorhand’s move.

I know at this time God is about to smite me with some severe affliction, because I just want to get away and crawl back to my cube. Patience. Patience. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“CHANG, it DOESN’T shred. “

“Oh, how?”  Johnny Depp returns.

“Chang. You put the paper in the bin. It falls into a bag. Someone picks up the bag and takes it away to a place where they shred.”

“OH, ok. Thank you very much.”

I’m making my escape. Or so I thought.

“Reetaaa, what weow owrwa with paper you don’t want to shred?”

“I put it in my trash can, Chang.”

Just one tiny example of an everyday workplace that no one could write in a sitcom because it would not be believable.

Oh, and one day, my sweet Indian friend decided she would try to imitate a Chinese accent. The office was in tears.

I know.  I'm horrible.  But office work is this close to insanity.