Thinking Fool

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March 13, 2006

An Open Letter from Thinking Fool to the "New Guy"

Dear New Guy,

Until you hear otherwise, for now on, I’ll refer to you as “Young Douche Bag Attorney.” It’s a perfect title for you.

Two weeks ago, you started working for the same governmental employer that I do. Fortunately for me, we do not share the same boss, which means I am not forced to work in the same immediate area with you. If I had to see you on a daily basis, let alone an hourly one, it would take about a week for me to start praising the virtues of murder-suicide.

When you approached me at the Happy Hour that several of us threw to welcome you to our family, I grew quite apprehensive. It’s not that I was scared of you; it’s just that I had a sixth sense that you were not going to be someone with whom I would enjoy conversing. Unfortunately, my hunch proved correct. After an incredibly painful five-minute conversation, I can honestly say that I would rather masturbate with razor blades than find myself in a one-on-one conversation with you for any protracted period of time. Judging by that thing growing above your lip, you might not know just how sharp razor blades can be; so let me put it another way: feel free not to talk to me again.

Young Douche Bag Attorney, by your own admission, you lack social skills. By his own admission, Jeffrey Dahmer lacked social skills. This leads me to wonder if you’ve ever worked in a chocolate factory. I don’t claim to be a master in social settings, but let me give you a quick tip. If someone asks you how you’re enjoying your time here, make sure your first response is not, “Well, I actually lived in D.C. two summers ago because while I attended law school, I interned for Senator [Home State].” That’s the type of answer that most of us would call “non-responsive.” But thanks for volunteering that allegedly flattering information about yourself. Those senate internships – they really are tough to secure, aren’t they? I noticed that you didn’t volunteer anything about your love life. Does your blow-up dummy get disturbed when you talk about her?

As you’re well aware, on Friday morning, I didn’t stroll into work until a few minutes before 11:00. You gleaned this fact from the instant messaging program, which alerts all of us when someone signs on or off. Of course, why you added me to your contact list utterly troubles me, but I guess there’s nothing I can do about that at this point in time. I must admit that during the fifteen hours I spent at work over the weekend, I didn’t see your name logged onto the network even once. Oh wait, I guess I wouldn’t see your name because I didn’t add you to my list of contacts. I reserve that list for people I actually don’t despise.

Young Douche Bag Attorney, if you’re trying to make friends at work, you’re taking a rather unusual approach.

Do you realize that you’ve butchered the names of nearly every single person you’ve met? Trust me; I’m not exaggerating. You even called a potential intern who might work for my boss by the wrong name when she was waiting to be interviewed. That’s right! In a two-minute span, you met this young woman, had a conversation with her, and managed to call her by the wrong name. I don’t even think a mentally retarded person could pull off that feat. I know that the first time you met me, within minutes, you weren’t calling me “Fool;” you were calling me “Spider.”

Given your tendency to slaughter names like Jack the Ripper slaughtered prostitutes, may I suggest not using names at all? It’s clear that you read some book about how people will like you if you call them by their names. Unfortunately, the book forgot to tell you that you have to call people by their actual names, not just random names. Doing the latter will actually repel people, not draw them in. Also, while we’re on the subject of prostitutes, did I hear correctly? Did you get turned down by prostitutes on several occasions? Did one of them actually say, “Shuga, I might be a dirty crack ho bitch, but I ain’t riding no lame dude’s stick.” (Apologies to all crack whores if I didn’t get the dialect down perfectly.)

Exactly what did you hope to accomplish when you came down to my office on Friday afternoon around 4:45? I’m still baffled by our conversation.

Young Douche Bag Attorney: So Fool, do you just roll into work whenever you want to? I added you to my messenger contacts and noticed that you didn’t get here until about 11:00 today.

Thinking Fool: (Thinking, “Why don’t you go fuck yourself!”) Well, actually, I couldn’t fall asleep last night, so I emailed my boss’ secretary to let her know that I’d be in late today and that I’d make up the hours over the weekend.

Young Douche Bag Attorney: Funny, I didn’t pull some cookies out of the oven until a quarter after midnight the other night, yet I managed to make it into work on time.

Thinking Fool: (Thinking, “Any chance we could let the D.C. snipers out for a weekend to see if they could pick off this asshole?”) I didn’t fall asleep until 5:00 a.m.

Young Douche Bag Attorney: Well, I’ll be watching you.

Thinking Fool: (Starting solitaire on computer) Thanks for stopping by; I’ve got work to do.

I’m really still quite puzzled about why you came to my office to harass me when we barely know each other, but I hope it’s the last time you every come to my office.

Yours truly,

Thinking Fool

P.S. – If one of those hookers actually accepts your offer, remember, don’t wear a condom. It’ll feel better that way, and God would never let anything bad happen to someone as wonderful as you.

Posted by fool on March 13, 2006 12:43 AM

Comments

Posted by: Philosofer at March 13, 2006 01:32 AM

Posted by: (m) at March 13, 2006 02:46 AM

Posted by: LALawyer at March 13, 2006 02:00 PM

Posted by: Fool at March 14, 2006 01:13 AM