I hate meetings. It’s not necessarily the meetings I dread, it’s the people that I have to listen to. More than half of whatever they’ve written on their agenda has 8,000 side paths and once they reach their point, they’re already straying from the margins of the next topic. But even more than listening to these people, I dislike the pompous enthusiasm. It’s great to like your job, but it’s quite another to treat it as if it were some badge of honor that grants you permission to parade around like some proud rooster, showing off colors everyone has already seen 10,000 times. Like the safety guy for example, I’ve come to the conclusion that you must have at least 5 socially-inept qualities to even apply for a job in any field of safety.
Let’s not ignore the fact that their belts are always tight enough to ensure that no actual blood flow reach their brains. Can we also bring to attention the fact that they’re usually the only ones laughing at their jokes. It has to be part of their training, “be sure to make a pun about ‘handling’ the broom properly”. I hate it and it makes my teeth hurt listening to them.
Our safety guy at work is the worst, his social skills (or lack thereof) only suggests that he was top of his class.
During meetings, he talks longer than anyone. This includes his direct boss and the CEO of the company. Augh, what did he say today… something like “safety isn’t a practice, it’s a journey” I swear to fucking God, he said it. Every eye in the room shot downwards to avoid making eye contact that might cause the ripple effect of pathetic laughter directed at him.
One meeting, I swear, he was shifting in his chair like there was hot shit in his pants, just waiting to drop this on us:
“My last name is Pigeon, not Parrot [laugh] guys. I don’t like repeating myself; we really need to make sure we’re wearing safety glasses at all times.”
People think God was resting on the seventh day, but really, he was working on John Pigeon’s ability to come up with a bad joke in advance. Seriously, I try to put my bitchiness aside and see the good in him, but my vision is always clouded by his arrogant, condescending tone. To top it off, he’s a one-upper. If you can catch a fish with your bear-hands, he can do it ice-fishing. If you saved children from a burning building — I don’t really know anything better than that, but if you tell him of your heroic-doings, you’ll find out. And you’d think that perhaps with no audience, he’d be different, nope; he’s a Rubick’s Cube with the same color on every side.
I don’t really know why he irritates me so much, but every time I see him, I just want to run in the other direction. Every bit of dribble that comes from his mouth is warded off with some sort of I-hate-you-don’t-talk-to-me repellent, I can’t stand his tone, his voice, his jokes or his laugh. I have no doubt I’ve been openly rude to him, but it’s never been intentional, I’m just not good at pretending to be nice to people I don’t like.
I had to help in the warehouse once because they were short-staffed, but I didn’t have steel-toed boots, so I had to wear these awful fucking things:
They’re steel-toed shoe covers and they’re mustard yellow (the only plus). He laughed every time he looked at my feet and when he saw me taking a picture of them said “Be sure to send them to your friends [ah-he-he], tell them it’s the latest fashion”. That alone “latest fashion”, I can’t, I just can’t even get started on shit like that. Not five minutes later after one bad joke, “Did any of your friends say anything, you’ve gotta show me the text message when they respond”. Jesus dude, seriously?
One might come to the conclusion that he’s lonely — no, that’s not the case. I met his girlfriend at the Christmas party last year, her hair was bleached to troll-doll status and she had more lipstick on her teeth than her lips. She wore some awkward, turquoise sequined sleeveless top with a white skirt that had the most dizzy wave-pattern on it you’ve ever seen. She was friendly enough, but one of those people where it was obvious she was constantly grasping for things to talk about.
I just don’t know how people get to be 45 (or however old he is) and it seems no one has mentioned to him “hey, you’re not foolin’ anyone pal, we see you striving for attention, sit down and take a breather, I know you must be exhausted from running your mouth”. Just being in his presence is exhausting. Not only due to his incessant ramblings but also a result of all the insults flying through your head when he’s anywhere near you.
I just… just can’t… there are no more words. Damn you John Pigeon, I just really don’t like you.