The S&*T Monster

You may remember my boss, Grendel. I've decided that it's high time I posted some more about it. I've been warned by a friend not to do this, lest I get dooced. But Grendels aren't smart enough to find my blog, and besides, if I get fired over this it means I don't have to work for Grendel any more.

Some of you may have been thinking that I was exaggerating in my last post about Grendel when I described it as being 6 foot 9. I assure you that is its exact height. I need you to believe this. It will be important later.

First allow me to describe its clothing. I work in an industry where casual is the norm, thank God. I wear jeans to work every day, and I love it. But there's casual, and then there's hobo clown. My boss wears a sweatshirt with soup stains on it. I play a game with a coworker, we'll call her Brenda again for continuity, where we keep track of the consecutive number of days this same sweatshirt is worn. So far the record streak (and that word is appropriate) stands at a respectable 9. That's 9 business days, mind you. Weekends were not counted.

Next up is pants. My boss has two faves that he likes to change up every fortnight or so. One is a pair of sweatpants. They do not match the sweatshirt except in filth level. We'll get to that. They also don't go all the way down. They are what in grade school were known as "floods." They come about 3 feet shy of the top of his untied hi-tops, and the waist drops about 3 feet down whenever he bends over which, given his height, is required for every task he wishes to accomplish, including breathing. He will stand in front of the refrigerator deciding on a beverage while his entire ass is exposed to the world. He does not wear underwear.

The other leg wear my boss sports is a pair of jeans which do not have the capability of staying up on their own. When fully fastened they will instantly slide to the floor. A belt is apparently out of the question. Grendel cannot and must not remove its hand for one second. Therefore my boss spends the entire day with a fist full of denim in one hand. I have been forced to go to business meetings at incredibly posh Beverly Hills law firm offices where my boss handed over a check for several hundred thousand dollars with one hand and held up his pants with the other. When an attorney asked him "what the hell was wrong with his pants," he simply replied "we can't all be rich like you." My boss makes six figures.

The most horrifying thing about Grendel is not its clothing, but its hygiene. Or should I say, its complete lack thereof. Grendel uses the bathroom on our floor which contains two stalls. One is almost too small for a normal person to fit in, so Grendel is physically unable to use this one. It is the only stall I will ever use. The other one is a handicapped stall with a door that will swing wide open if not latched. Grendel never latches it. If you happen to be unlucky enough to enter the bathroom when Grendel is using it, it will bellow "SOMONE'S IN HERE" instead of simply closing the door. I time my trips to the bathroom precisely to avoid any possibility of this, and for good reason.

Before I knew the horrors I now know, I happened one time to be in the human stall when Grendel was in the other. I now know the sounds a cow hears right before entering the abatoir. If you heard these sounds coming from inside a haunted house, you would leave the premises immediately and sue for mental anguish. Sadly, that is not the repulsive part. Another fat disgusting monster who works at my company actually came into the bathroom seeking Grendel and, finding him indisposed, told it to come to his office when he was done. He then exited. Grendel then immediately got up and rushed out of the bathroom. No other act save pulling up the sweatpants was performed between its rising and exiting the room. Are you getting that? It simply got up and left. The toilet paper roll did not make so much as a quarter turn.

Now we come to the real reason that Grendel's sweatpants are so filthy. Given its habits, it is understandable that it often becomes "uncomfortable" during the day. It does not, however, repair to its lair to address this situation. Instead it has a conversation with whoever it must, while scratching itself violently and thoroughly, maintaining eye contact the entire time. It will ask you seriously about whether or not the quitclaim papers have been signed while digging for gold in its ass.

Keep this in mind while I tell you more. Grendel's favorite game used to be to take people's food. If you were eating a bowl of popcorn, for example, it would stick its filthy claw right in the bowl. Many people were known to throw away entire meals without touching them. Once it made a motion toward my own bowl of popcorn, but I stayed its hand with such a withering stare that it actually apologized and retreated. Stopping the touching was another matter.

I used to sit in the hallway. That is, I sat on one side of the hallway. My colleague, Brenda, still sits on the other side. I now have an office, thank the Lord up above. When I was in the hallway, though, Grendel had occassion to pass by me about 5-10 times a day. The first problem with this was that I faced the wall, so every time Grendel approached, it was standing right behind me. Do you know what is at eye level when you are seated in a chair and a 6'9" monster is standing right behind you? Can you guess? Do NOT turn your head, that's all I can say.

The second thing was that every time - EVERY time - it passed me it would pat me on the shoulder. It was a "hey, you're doin a good job" kind of pat. This did not make it acceptable. The first time I was disgusted (you can imagine why). After that I was infuriated. I started to dread it. I would see Grendel leave its lair at the long end of the hallway, and I'd have a good 20-30 seconds to anticipate what was coming. Like the tick...tick...tick of the slow climb up the first hill of a roller coaster, only instead of a slightly scary but fun ride down, a homeless guy at the top drops a wet paper bag full of crap on your shoulder.

After a while I told Grendel I didn't like to be touched. It was very apologetic, and immediately continued its habit of touching me. I told it again. And again. Finally I went to our HR guy and told him. He told me to tell Grendel. I said that I had, repeatedly. He said if it continued he would get involved. He's very helpful that way.

Grendel finally got the hint and stopped. At first it tried to just tap me on the shoulder, more lightly and quickly. Perhaps it thought I wouldn't notice if it did it fast enough. As I was now being poked instead of patted, I never failed to notice. When I voiced my complaint again, it changed strategies. It came by and said "I'm not gonna touch you any more when I come by here. I'll touch this printer instead." And it did. Every time it passed my desk, it reached out and touched the printer. Its OCD was transferred, mercifully, to another object. BUT WHY TELL ME THAT? JUST STOP.

Now I have an office, and I have situated my desk and furniture in such a way that it is impossible for anyone to approach me from behind. It's been 6 months. The nightmares have finally stopped.