Is there a polite way of telling a coworker that the fact that you eat lunch at your desk is not an indicator that you want to be interrupted to be a sounding board for every little thing that irritates them about the other people in the dept?
And no, wearing headphones / reading a book / clearly being busy don’t seem to be any deterrent.
Do not disturb sign?
Or a “Beware of Dog”?
…..So what you’re saying is that I should bark viciously when approached?
Cause I’m down.
See, what I’d do is put on the headphones, not make eye contact, and then pretend you don’t hear them.
I would go with one of two options, depending on which you think you can pull off:
Politely but firmly say: “Can I swing by your desk later to discuss this? I [prefer not to talk and eat][need to take a few moments to myself right now][insert other bland excuse]. *very vshort pause where you pretend to read agreement in their face* Thank you!” The trick to this is to be friendly but also say it in a tone that implies of course they are going to grant your request. And just on the off chance they don’t or are opening their mouth to argue, you act as though you have seen agreement on their face and thank them. Then — and this is key — you actually do go over to their desk later, spend 120-150 seconds talking to them, and then say, “Oh! I have to get back to work but glad we were able to talk.” By going over to their desk you are training them that they can get attention from you if they play by your rules, and because you are the one going over, you can control how long you stay.
Pretend you cannot hear them and then do a really over-the-top, exaggerated startle response that causes a big commotion. “Oh my gosh you scared me! What were you doing there! My heart is beating so fast. Oh man, I think I need to [go grab a water][splash some water on my face][step out for some fresh air][other excuse to leave].” You don’t let them come with you, and then you go leave for a few minutes, come back, and don’t talk to them. This will teach them that trying to approach you when you have headphones in will not result in any positive attention.
I am better at saying things politely but firmly than I am at theatrics, so I tend go with options along the lines of #1, but other people I know prefer stuff like #2.
I mean, you look out the window and see this dude on the wing, staring at you peeing instead of ripping up an engine, you’ve just saved the lives of everyone on the plane. You’re a hero. You’re a damn hero.
This tweet has prevented more eating disorders than any public health campaign ever has
i dont get the people in the notes to this saying its too mean because from experience when you’re in the depth of an eating disorder and brag to everyone about how little you eat you need to get a reality check not to be babied…..participating in diet culture IS laughable stay mad
Last week I accidentally took an edible at 10x my usual dose. I say “accidentally” but it was really more of a “my friend held it out to my face and I impulsively swallowed it like a python”, which was technically on purpose but still an accident in that my squamate instincts acted faster than my ability to assess the situation and ask myself if I really wanted to get Atreides high or not.
Anyway. I was painting the wall when it hit. My friend heard me make a noise and asked what was wrong—I explained that I had just fallen through several portals. I realized that painting the wall fulfilled my entire hierarchy of needs, and was absolutely sure that I was on track to escaping the cycle of samsara if I just kept at it a little longer. I was thwarted on my journey towards nirvana only by the fact that I ran out of paint.
Seeking a surrogate act of humble service through which I might be redeemed and made human, I turned to unwashed dishes in the sink and took up the holy weapon of the sponge. I was partway through cleaning the blender when it REALLY hit.
You ever clean a blender? It’s a shockingly intimate act. They are complex tools. One of the most complicated denizens of the kitchen. Glass and steel and rubber and plastic. Fuck! They’ve got gaskets. You can’t just scrub ‘em and rinse them down like any other piece of shit dish. You’ve got to dissemble them piece by piece, groove by sensitive groove, taking care to lavish the spinning blades with cautious attention. There’s something sensual about it. Something strangely vulnerable.
As I stood there, turning the pieces over in my hands, I thought about all the things we ask of blenders. They don’t have an easy job. They are hard laborers taking on a thankless task. I have used them so roughly in my haste for high-density smoothies, pushing them to their limits and occasionally breaking them. I remembered the smell of acrid smoke and decaying rubber that filled the kitchen in the break room the last time I tried to make a smoothie at work—the motor overtaxed and melted, the gasket cracked and brittle. Strawberry slurry leaked out of it like the blood of a slain animal.
Was this blender built to last? Or was it doomed to an early grave in some distant landfill by the genetic disorder of planned obsolescence? I didn’t know, and was far too high to make an educated guess. But I knew that whatever care and tenderness and empathy I put into it, the more respect for the partnership of man and machine, the better it would perform for me.
This thought filled me with a surge of affection. However long its lifespan, I wanted it to be filled with dignity and love and understanding. I thought: I bet no one has hugged this blender before. And so I lifted it from its base.
A blender is roughly the size and shape of a human baby. Cradling one in your arms satisfies a primal need. A month ago I was permitted to hold an infant for the first time in my life, an experience which was physically and psychologically healing. I felt an echo of that satisfaction holding my friend the blender, and the thought of parting with it felt even more ridiculous than bringing it with me to hang out on my friend’s bed.
Unlike billionaires, pickpockets often recognize they have a lot in common with the potential victims of their crime.
This reminds me of Rhys Nicholson the comedian who got mugged and the mugger said “I promise this isn’t a hate crime, my sister is a lesbian im pro gay rights”
it’s so funny how ppl sometimes forget that some light sexual assault is just part of the airport security process for some of us lol like I’ll be like going through security is the worst part of flying and they’ll be like yeah it’s so annoying having to take your shoes off and I say no I mean the part where a TSA agent gropes your genitalia and makes a face at you
people who want to live in lighthouse - i hear you, i understand you
but i raise you
living in water tower
safer (you not gonna die horrid death so easy), not so cursed but still ominous, you are alone bc you are in a tower but you can do groceries no problem, just chilling above everything else
and look at those beauties!! (from Poland <3)
as an american i was very confused by this post until i got to the images because our water towers look like this, which, as you can imagine, is a completey unsexy place to live
ALT
