An open plea to T, the receptionist in my office

I don't mean to be a jerk, but T--the receptionist at my work--may in fact be the dumbest, most vacuous individual I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. Sometimes she doesn't come into work because--as she explains it to our boss--she "just didn't feel like it." Sometimes she doesn't come into work because her sinuses are stuffed up. Sometimes she doesn't come into work because she can't figure out how to get our of her garage when there's a lot of traffic. No, really.

But when she DOES come into work...ah, that's when the real fun begins.

T, I know you'll never read this because you're over 60 and don't know what a blog is and even if someone explained to you what a blog is--like a 2nd grade teacher, for instance--and all the other little kids in the class, after having heard the explanatory lecture regarding this thing called "blog," were on-line blogging their little minds out, you STILL wouldn't understand it, nor would you even be able to find a blog on-line with two hands, a flashlight, a pith helmet, a map drawn by the finest cartographers in the world from many nations working in concert, two sherpas, a GPS system rivaling that used in the space program, and Vasco de FUCKING Gamba himself. But, if you do manage to overcome all those obstacles I just listed and you should somehow stumble your way onto this humble blog on one of your days off at your high-rise apartment that you and your asshole husband who insists everyone address him as "Mr. Pxxxx" fucking RENT for some reason, please, for the love of Christ, listen to me:

You do not have to tell me the ethnicity of every person after you have spoken with them. Saying, "Oh, Carmen called from Bentley Forbes. She's a nice, Hispanic girl" doesn't really help me address Carmen's sign needs, unless she needs a sign about being Hispanic. This is America. Not everyone's white. That nice Bill Cosby fella? Yup, not white. Seriously. It's OK. It's all going to be OK.

I do not need to know the "gossip" at your daughter's office, especially since I deal with some of those people in the course of doing my job. I really don't care and, in fact, it puts me in a uncomfortable position, knowing information I don't need to and would rather not know. Telling me that they're getting their insurance benefits cut...it doesn't help me do my job.

I do not need to hear about how you and S (another co-worker) aren't getting along. Again...weird position. Don't like it. And I don't care. So it's not necessary. Thanks.

When you answer the phone and get the name and company of the person holding for me, it would be just awesome if it were the correct name and the correct company. For instance, telling me that "Tom from Frontis" is on the phone, who I don't know, doesn't help me when it's actually "Ron at Premises," who I DO know. Nor is telling me that it's "some guy from somewhere" particularly helpful.

It IS in fact possible to hear the phone ring when the fax machine is printing or when the laser-printer is warming up. See, the latter two events generally sound like this: "Mmmmmmmmmmm." The phone, however, sounds like this: "Ring." Quite different, actually.

When you continue to talk to me yet walk away, out of my office, I am no longer listening to you. So you can either (1) stay in my office, address me properly by looking me in the face and continuing to move your lips while making organized noises or (2) shut the hell up. Either one is cool.

Please don't moan and groan when I ask you to do something for me. I'm not some jerk. I don't bark orders at you like other people in this office. In fact, when I have gotten palpably annoyed with you in the past, I have taken particular care to apologize to you as sincerely as possible, so I would appreicate it that when I ask you to do your job and help me, that you do it and help me without complaining or sighing or lamenting about how busy you are. Because you're not busy. I know it. Frankly, I think YOU know it and even if you WERE busy, I truly believe that a tree frog with a learning disability could get more accomplished on a day-to-day basis than you do.


Thank you for reading. I'll say this about your employ at the office at which I too work: I am constantly amazed, day after day after day, that you have a job. It's a fucking miracle.