Office Workers in the Wild

Being a receptionist is weird. I'm like part of the furniture to the people who work in this building, which affords me the opportunity to observe how they behave when they feel like they're not being noticed. I've grouped them into fun types for you! Now you can catalogue your own office workers, as well as get a basic level of understanding in how to deal with them.

Synergistic Facetime Guys

Synergistic Facetime Guys have one thing on their minds: business. And they want you to know that they mean it. All you have to do is be physically present to make them happy. To achieve maximum business output, they stand around where other people can hear them say a lot of jargon-filled business talk. Generally, whoever uses the most acronyms or buzzwords wins. And then there's the guy on the fringes of the group: maybe he's new, or he's been out of the office for a while. The thing is, he doesn't entirely know what's going on, but he really wants to be able to say things like "disruptive innovation" in a sentence, but he can't yet. So he looks on wistfully, trying to pick up on the meat of the conversation. Soon he will jump in. He will be the shark.

The Originalist

The Originalist really, really, really wants you to like him but he can't think of anything good to say. He has probably worked for the company for longer than you have been alive, and there's something sad, yet noble about him, as if he were a piece of coal that has almost but not quite turned to diamond under immeasurable pressure. Whether you like or hate the Originalist will depend entirely on your own personality. But either way, he is going to talk to you every time he passes by your desk. You will say, "Good morning, Originalist, how are you today?" And he will say, "Another day, another fifty cents!" and then he will laugh for much too long. This will happen every day until one of you leaves or dies. Just let it happen.

 Chatty Cathy

Everyone says she's a very sweet girl, bless her heart. Cathy is the yin to the Originalist's yang. Whereas he has nothing new to say, Chatty Cathy always has some sort of drama going on that she wants to tell you about. Maybe she's going through a messy breakup, or she lost her favorite necklace at the gym, or maybe her toast burned this morning. No matter what it was, she wants you to know about it down to the most minor detail. The upside of Cathy is that she's not looking for a response. You can go ahead and check your email or read news on the Internet. Cathy knows that silence and a lack of eye contact are no reason to stop talking to someone. Eventually someone else will make the mistake of walking by and asking Cathy a question. At that point, she will follow them away, telling them a story, and you can bask in sweet silence.

 The Traditionalist

The Traditionalist does not like change. If something was done a certain way 20 years ago, that's good enough for him. He doesn't have time for your little social niceties, either. He said "Good morning" to that one receptionist on his first day in 1987, and that should count as a blanket "good morning" for all the others. Why, in his day, women wore skirts and gloves, and they knew their place, which was in the home taking care of the children. What he really wants to know is, when did they start hiring high school kids for this job? With the Traditionalist, it's best to use misdirection - tell him something shocking, like how the sodas in the vending machine are $1.50 now. He usually will go away to complain to someone older than you, someone who can empathize, about our degenerate society.

Rabble Rousers

All office workers love getting free stuff. Whether it's coffee or cake, they have come to expect it, and they feel they are entitled to it. But sometimes the vicissitudes of an office supply chain play them false and suddenly something that has always been there just isn't there! What are they going to do? They're going to complain. Loudly. And since they don't know where to direct their impotent rage over the dearth of Sweet n Low packets, they square their shoulders and march to the reception desk. "Excuse me," they say, bristling with indignation, "but who is responsible for ordering our supplies? We are out of imitation sugar!" The only thing you can do here is sympathize with their plight. Let them know that this tragedy has been brought to the attention of your superiors and, God willing, will never happen again. They still won't be pleased, but all but the most dedicated will go away.

And there you have it! Office workers are a strange bunch, but with a little finesse, you can usually manage them to your satisfaction. It works pretty well if you imagine you're babysitting very sensitive children. Eventually, whether through Stockholm Syndrome or a general sort of understanding, you might even come to appreciate your very own office workers in all their varieties. Might.

Break Room Cake Panic

"There's cake in the break room!"

The guy talking to me probably thinks I know his name, but I don't. Sorry, guy!

I only recently started working as the receptionist in this office building, and I'm still trying to remember where all the conference rooms are. So many people have been introduced to me, I had to make up an elaborate set of private notes with symbols (one is a stick figure standing on a mountain with outspread arms; this is the CIO) that tell me the bare basics of each power player and how they relate to each other.

This job is simultaneously one of the easiest jobs I've ever had, and one of the most politically nuanced. I've taken to wearing dresses to work - honest to God, dresses - and heels. I've read articles on how to be a good receptionist. I understand that my job is not so much to "help" everyone as it is to make sure that the right people have access to the right other people and places, and to keep everyone else away in as pleasant a manner as possible. Also, I have to keep the candy dish full; if I run out of an appropriate variety of red flavors, there might be an uprising.

Though I'm one of nature's high-strung people, these are all things I can deal with. I just have to mentally pigeonhole each thing and then the mountain of little things becomes easily manageable. As far as I can tell, I've been swanning along fairly well.

But then this cake thing happens and it is too much.

If you know me or have read my blog at all, you've probably picked up that I'm a mostly functional crazy person. I'm basically a rubber-band ball of anxieties and neuroses that can be triggered by the tiniest of things, and most of those triggers come from times when I have to interact socially with other humans that I don't know that well.

So. Cake. Here's how the simple, friendly offer of break room cake sent me into a total tail-spin:

I view anything that involves food as a social interaction. This is problematic because I hate eating in front of people. Eating, on a primal level, makes me feel vulnerable, like a grazing antelope. I feel like everyone is watching and judging not only how I eat but what I eat and how much. This is probably 50% because I have issues about my weight, and 50% pure weirdness on my part. I know logically that no one cares, or if they do, they're probably a jerk.

The second part of the problem was that this building is a total warren of cubicles, conference rooms, and break rooms and I'm not yet familiar with all of it. The break room that houses said cake is on the second floor, where I only know how to find a few key places. I know that if I go upstairs, I might not be able to find the break room and I'll end up wandering around like a fool while (in my mind) people secretly watch and laugh.

I decide that I'm not going to go in search of this cake. The cost/benefit analysis I just ran in my head says it's not worth the possible psychological trauma. But I can't just refuse the cake outright because then I would seem rude. What I do instead is say that I will get some cake as soon as I can get away from my desk. This seems to appease Cake Guy and he goes away. Problem solved!

Except that about 45 minutes later, Cake Guy comes back to ask if I have gotten any cake yet. This is infuriating. Why are you so intent on my eating this cake? My first instinct is to lie and say that I got cake, but there are too many variables that could expose the lie, and then he would realize I'm a crazy person who lies about insignificant things like cake. So I pretend I forgot, and renew my promise to obtain cake as soon as humanly possible.

This time, though, I don't get off so easily. The security guard who sits with me is excited about the cake, and starts talking to Cake Guy about it. Then Security Guard asks me if I want to go get cake first or if they should go first. I tell Security Guard to go ahead, thinking I can get out of this cake adventure yet. But Cake Guy just keeps standing by my desk chatting about cake! I feel like if this was a cartoon, there would be little cakes just flying around everywhere because everyone in this building is absolutely fixated on whether I will or will not have cake today.

So while Cake Guy's cake chatter breaks over me like surf on a rock, Security Guard comes back with a piece of the much-vaunted cake and - horrifyingly - an extra plate for me so that when I go upstairs I won't have to struggle to find plates.

With my heart sinking in defeat and under what seems like heavy scrutiny from Cake Guy and Security Guard, I smile and take my little plate upstairs to get some stupid cake.

My fears were immediately realized, by the way, when I could not find the break room with its dragon's horde of cake. So now I'm just wandering around an office building carrying an empty plate that surely telegraphs to everyone who can see me that I am lost and hungry, which must be a pathetic sight.

In my internal view, the plate becomes a flag that proclaims, "THIS PERSON DOESN'T BELONG HERE! SHE'S LOST IN THE BUILDING, EVERYONE!" My heart starts pounding and I almost begin hyperventilating, but I talk myself down. There is no way I will let myself have a panic attack over break room cake.

I steel my nerves for the inevitable "where's your cake?" questions and head toward the stairs when the worst thing happens: Cake Guy comes upstairs and sees me wandering with my sad little empty plate. He looks bemused. I paste on a smile and say, "Which break room is this cake in?" So he walks me over to it and then just wanders off, like he didn't force me into this cake apocalypse with his weird insistence that I have cake.

So as quickly as I can, I scoop up a tiny piece of cake and scuttle downstairs to the safety of my desk. As I joylessly pick apart and consume my chaos cake, Security Guard is all, "Good cake, right?"

"Yes," I answer cheerily, "Quite good! So nice of him to share!"