Gilligan's Isle: The Office Edition

A job. Work. Livelihood. The gig. Call it what you want. These days, I call mine Gilligan's Island. I say this for two reasons. One, I work with a milieu of oddball characters worthy of their own sitcom. Second, I really need to get off this island. Every day my alarm sounds I'm greeted with a stark reality; Rise and Grind. This is becoming an increasingly arduous task mainly because I'm starting to hate going there. It was cool at first. But any gig will seem cool after a year and half of being unemployed like I was. These days, I sit at my desk inundated with work that bores me to tears. When I'm not trying to find a needle in a haystack I'm thinking of new and interesting ways to make my escape from the following true to life characters at my workplace.

The Diva: As the story goes, she hails from a big shot firm in the city and is slowly...and I mean ever so slowly adjusting to the culture of our homey little office. Where ever she came from, they apparently did nothing for themselves. This includes ordering lunch, carrying a box of files from her Lexus truck and knowing how to copy and paste a document. I wish I was joking about the last one. I'm not. Also, she has a penchant for dressing in all black every day and complains about how freezing she is though I've never seen her clad in anything but pumps, pencil skirts and sleeveless sheaths. Yes, even on the day we were hit with 12 inches of snow. But she sure has that Damsel-in-Distress thing licked.

The Basket Case: There's one in every office. A nice but nerdy girl that is so socially awkward that you'd feel sorry for her if she weren't so damn irritating. Her voice is perhaps a pitch or two lower than a thousand dying cats. She talks with her mouth full and includes herself in conversations she has absolutely nothing to contribute to. Once, she went out to the "post office" and came back with $2000 worth of damage to her car which she claimed happened in the parking lot. When we asked her what happened at the post office she let out a high-pitched squealing explanation of "Idunno!Inevermadeit!" Not a breath in between. Who knows what carnage she left in her clumsy ass wake. She's never at her desk. Actually, I think she's usually under it secretly devouring sleeves of Oreo cookies since she seems shy to eat in front of another human being. She may be bulimic. Just my suspicion.

Nosferatu: This dude frightens me. Every. Single. Day. He doesn't walk, he saunters. And sometimes, he's lurking in the doorway for God knows how long before someone looks up and notices he's there. He claims to be married and bemoans the cost of his daughter's upcoming wedding to anyone who will pretend to listen. This guy actually reproduced? I don't buy it. He has a stubborn fang that looks like it's been pulled ten times already but continues to grow back. It's a wonder he hasn't stabbed his lower lip while he yammers on about shit no one cares about. That thing is sharp, okay? I started keeping garlic in my bottom drawer and he now mysteriously keeps his distance.


The (Multi) Millionaire: Yeah, no shipwrecked island is complete without one- so we have him. He actually looks like one of the Kennedys. One of the dearly departed, bloated, alcoholic Kennedys known for accidentally driving off bridges with pretty party girls legal secretaries in the car who aren't so lucky as him. I'll say this much: If his head weren't attached, it would be sitting right on the desk with the files he perpetually needs for closings and the Blackberry he seemingly cannot live without. His wife calls him 20 times a day...and 20 times a day he's "in a meeting" when she does. To each his own. I actually think he and the Diva would make a great pair if they weren't married to other people and if either one had an attention span longer than Polaroid flashbulb.


The Snacker: I really have no complaints about the Snacker. She's just known for eating every time you pass her office. Granola bars. Pop Tarts. Biscotti. Last night's lasagna. You name it. But she shares the goods which is a plus. I honestly have no idea where she puts it. She must have the metabolism of a racehorse because anyone else would be 100 pounds overweight by now if they ate the way she does. She's just healthy. And strong as an ox. I swear I saw her lift and change the Poland Springs water cooler with her pinkie finger once.



The Space Invader: This girl worked in my office for a week before she divulged that she was drinking a gallon of cranberry juice a day to battle a pesky UTI. Why I knew that much about her vag so soon- or at all is anybody's guess. She also told wildly inappropriate jokes- even by my standards. I used to wonder why she stands so close to everyone when she speaks to them- but then I realized that most of what she says has no place being spoken aloud in an office. The girl is a freak. Simple and plain.


The Dirty Old Man: It is with mixed emotions that I write about this guy. Some of you may remember when I caught him surfing porn at his desk a while back. Well, he had some serious health trouble and at the ripe old age of 71, he can no longer practice law. But I know where ever he is now- he has visions of daisy chains dancing in his head.


How I'm able to spend 40 hours a week with these people is a testament to my fortitude. I avoid them at all costs and make myself scarce when I can. It could only be worse if The Skipper had a back office. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a resumé to go upload.