Free Rude Bitches Make Me Tired: Slightly Profane and Entirely Logical Answers to Modern Etiquette Dilemmas by Celia Rivenbark

Understandable. In this economy, it’s not unusual to arrive at work and be told you’re no longer needed by the time you unpack your lunch. It happened to my sister, who was laid off recently after twenty-seven years at the same job. She was fired by a dreadful troll of a man who had been on the job for eight months and who immediately installed a much younger woman with virtually no experience in my sister’s job and gave himself a twelve-thousand-dollar pay raise.
    I believe “asswipe” covers it nicely.
    Wait. We were talking about you, weren’t we? It’s just that when you witness such acute douchery up close and personal, it shakes you to the core. But, to answer your question, the only tactful thing to do is say, “I’m so sorry.” Don’t say, “This place sucks and I can’t wait to get outta here myself.” That’s condescending and doesn’t make her feel any better. You should follow up by arranging a get-together (think frothy rum drinks at Applebee’s) with like-minded coworkers. This will cheer her a bit, and you can bash the boss for a few hours in relative peace and quiet because, let’s face it, nobody goes to Applebee’s.
    Question: A coworker routinely places his lunch leftovers in the office fridge and leaves them there for days, even weeks. It’s not my job to clean up after this slob, but if I don’t do it, the break room simply reeks. What should I do?
    I’m assuming that, like Randy Quaid’s daughter in National Lampoon’s Vacation, you were, sadly, born without a tongue. I assume this because I can’t imagine a grown-up-type person not simply calling out this boor. Most of the time, in my experience, the offender has simply forgotten about the leftovers. You shouldn’t clean up behind him; you should stand there, arms folded, tapping your foot and pursing your lips while you watch him toss the smelly reekage from the fridge. It can become your Friday routine, along with weekend nails and waiting for your married boyfriend to call.
    Question: How did you know that I have a married boyfriend?!
    I’m crazy smart that way. Also, Antonio told me. He reads minds, you know. Shit, I might need to get out of here more often.…
    Question: A woman in our office keeps a calendar with all our birthdays marked on it. She then takes up money and buys a cake so we can celebrate. We hate her and want her to stop because nobody needs that much cake, it’s a creepy forced kind of friendliness, and we think she pockets at least an extra ten bucks every time, because she usually buys marked-down cakes from the grocery store freezer.
    Oh, the cake monster. There’s one in every office. She’s usually middle-aged, smells vaguely of litter box, and has hair just like the mom in That ’70s Show.
    Of course, she’s working a cake scam. It’s one of the oldest cons in the workplace, along with the “Susan’s aunt/grandma/mother-in-law died, and we’re taking up money for flowers.…” I’ll bet she bought new drapes from Pier 1 with the extras from her cake-extortion fund. And, oh, how Fluffy does love to climb them!
    The solution is easy. Tell Cake Monster that you’ve taken a poll and people are concerned about expanding waistlines and midafternoon consumption of empty calories. In other words, the party’s over.
    It’s okay, by the way, to solicit money for ailing coworkers who are legitimately in the hospital or recuperating at home. My Duh Hubby warmly remembers working at the Thomas Built school bus factory while in college and being asked to give a dollar to Britney Sue’s flower fund.
    When he innocently asked what had happened to Britney Sue, he was told by the gruff foreman shaking the cash-filled pickle jar in front of him: “Britney Sue had a cyst on her pussy.”
    “Put me down for two,” said Duh.
    Eat your hearts out, ladies.
    Question: A colleague who works six cubicles over has such a loud phone voice! I can hear every word he’s saying all day long. Sometimes it’s