“A guy named Brett. Constantly underperforms his very simple manual labor intensive duties. Blames everyone else when he’s called out, backtalks managers and coworkers alike, and constantly talks and talks to anyone who will listen to his stories. It’s like dude, no one cares, get back to work. And he stinks, does not shower, but he obviously knows that he should cuz he sometimes comes in smelling like BO with a tiny layer of deodorant on top.”
“Michael. He’s a real grump and he doesn’t fit in well with the rest of the office. He’s old as shit and refers to seat belt laws as a symptom of the ‘nanny state.’ Every discussion leads to his opinions on shit and he sighs really loud just to get people to ask him about what he’s working on so he can bitch for the next 30 minutes. I don’t fucking care, Michael! I wish you’d work from home every day!”
Falls asleep at his desk.
Doesn’t listen to explanations.
Walks away halfway through explanations.
Talks over the top of you.
Sneaks up behind you and taps the desk to get your attention.
Will awkwardly stand next to you in the middle of important conversation to ask something non-critical and mundane.
If he doesn’t like the answer he will continue to ask the same question to the next higher manager until he himself is asked, ‘why are you asking me? What did your manager say?’
My coworkers and I are confident that the dust that exists on our desks comes from his incessant scratching of his legs for five minutes straight.
Being greeted with a surprised ‘WHAT?!’ when someone tried to talk to him about something work-related.
And the cherry on top. Lunch is an intimate affair with the three surrounding cubicles. It’s akin to a pig eating from a trough but with a Hoover vacuum cleaner running at be same time. And just when you think lunch is over. BAM it’s the sweet, sweet suckling sounds of him lathering his fingers (the ones he used to eat with or scoop out the remains of his soup) with his spit to clean them.
We all fear lunch time.