The Good, the Bad and the Smelly

We all know how I feel about my job. It has its perks, but is ultimately incredibly boring and lacking in challenge and opportunity for growth and professional/personal development. After much contemplation, I have effectively whittled down the personalities of three staff members who work at my fitness center (myself included) into a witty Clint Eastwood movie title spinoff.

How clever am I?

The Good? Well, duh. Obviously me. I come to work on time, I know my stuff and I follow the rules. Can you say model employee? Sure I surf the net and harass the innocent employees of the company whose fitness center I run staff via email and beg them to accompany me to the cafeteria since apparently I'm incapable of walking there by myself. But when the day's over, my work's all done and my ducks are happily sitting in a row. I meet my (few) deadlines, errors in print media I put out are minimal (if existent) and my stuff makes sense (for the most part) to anyone capable of reading at or above a second grade level. I also have the neatest handwriting of my colleagues, and smell the second prettiest (BS takes first place on that one after he douses himself in Axe).

The Bad is also a no-brainer. Blank Stare has obviously lost interest (if there ever was any) in maintaining a respectable display of what we adults call work ethic. He shows up for work late consistently. This wouldn't be a big deal if we lived in Cube Land where each person is responsible for his own crap. But when I get there 10 minutes before the center is scheduled to open so that by opening time, all the equipment is turned on and all opening duties have been completed, and BS strolls in 5 or 10 minutes AFTER opening ALL THE TIME, it starts to irk me. And that's putting it mildly. He surfs the net all day (big deal, we all do) but he has the audacity to search and apply for jobs online on company time. This is, of course, after he spends the first hour and a half of his day working out, but before his first shower of the day. In which he takes longer than I do because, according to my sources, he takes the time to flex in front of the mirror. (And people wonder why I have so many guy friends at work...the information they give me is priceless!)

Again- would this all be a really big deal if he carried his weight in terms of getting crap done? Not at all! But he does bare minimum. He has very few responsibilities, and they are rarely completed on time. When they are completed, the fliers and posters are riddled with typos and errors and sentences that either don't make sense, or aren't true. Seriously, how can strength training take years off your life? And I'd like to know what resource he found that documented that there are actual carbohydrate-laden foods that lower your blood sugar levels (as opposed to just resulting in less of a spike)?

I could go on forever. But to save you the agony of reading my rants about BS, I'll move on to the final part of the Work Trinity.

The Smelly. Oh Lord, where do I begin? The Bossman is a great person and a wonderful director. We get along well and I absolutely love my work time with him. Unlike BS, he gets his work done, but is able to laugh and joke and have fun while doing it. But he has one flaw. He takes his sweaty, smelly shoes off while sitting INCHES from my chair.

Seriously, that is one nasty funk. It's not the typical foul male shoe/sock/sweat odor. This is the ultrastank that is produced only by the sweat glands of someone on a very unhealthy diet, who works out incessantly and never washes his shoes or socks. Or showers.

Not to say Bossman doesn't shower, or wears dirty socks, but the stench that emanates from his feet is nasty at best.

Yet he keeps taking off his shoes right in front of me. And, lucky me, today he even peeled down the back of his sock to reveal a smelly old nasty dry cracked peeling heel because he's been complaining of pain there.

Then, get this, he asks me to RUB IT.

Who the HELL deserves to be subjected to that kind of abuse at work?

I tried the pregnancy card, saying I was more sensitive to smells and couldn't take it. I think I even gagged a little today. But he's in denial and told me it wasn't that bad. NOT THAT BAD? His sense of smell must be as bad as his hearing, because it was a lethal odor.

Anyway, so there we are. A motley crew at best.

But you gotta love us.

At least The Good and The Smelly.