Can I get sanity as a bonus? Please?

Everyone has his or her quarks. Small annoyances that rub other people the wrong way. The good news is, you don’t have to spend extended periods of time with people that annoy you constantly. Usually.

Unless you work with them. Mere feet away. Your sanity resting upon their ability to make as little noise as possible. Similar to “The Quiet Game,” however adults usually comprehend when this is suggested it really means “Please, shut the f#$@ up.”

“Gee, this feels personal? Is someone irritable?”

Everyday, stalkers. Everyday.

For years I was a nanny. Through high school, college and even after I graduated and refused to accept my fate in the working world. (Read: I couldn’t get a job immediately.) However, once The Man offered me a 9-5 with a reasonable salary I put down the diapers and Goldfish (so good!), and traded up for a wireless mouse and sticky notes.

Or, so I thought.

Little did I know that even with a wireless mouse and stack-o-stickies that I had simply graduated into the world of adult-nannying.

What’s that? You aren’t familiar with this unless it includes Depends and memory loss? Let me help you then. Has your mom ever called you and said “how do I resize a photo?” Or maybe your Dad has questioned, “How do I check my bank balance online?” This is more like adult-babysitting because these wonderful people listened to you babble on for years about things that weren’t that important. For example: your high school crush(es), what kind of car you would one day purchase, and endless hours of “Mom…mom…mom…mom…” Their current sanity is unexplainable. You were probably a pain in the butt, though 75% of parents would never tell you that.

Some of you nanny your bosses. Organizing their calendars: they claim their busy / you claim they’re lazy. Taking their messages: too busy to answer the phone / you are not. Minion.

My boss does not inflict daily annoyances. Rather he provides me the necessary tools for me to get my ish done as efficiently as possible – minus my sanity. After 18-months of sharing an office space I can tell you that I am as close to going postal as a new mother. My hair is too thin as it is to get any thinner, but my shoulders contain the stress of a woman far my senior. Why you ask? Because, dear stalkers, I nanny a 42-year old with full cranial function.

And it makes me wish I had padded walls.

I never understood why my mother was sensitive to silence. Now I do. There is a never-ending amount of noise reverberating from her desk. Whether she’s talking to herself, me or her dog – she rarely sits in silence longer than five minutes. Her questions are generally rhetorical – hence pointless interruption. Her statements are generally righteous – making me want to contradict them for sheer distain of yet ANOTHER interruption. The all-time favorite that takes my cake (which sucks, because I love cake), her ability to yell through a wall to ask my co-workers questions.

And no, she is not Super Woman. The walls stand strong, and her voice certainly bounces off of them. We have: an intercom system, iChat, e-mail and legs. All of which provide silent, or quieter, question-asking options.

Me: You could look at a sample pack. ::holds up package::
Her: Ha. You’re such a smart ass.

Or, maybe I am just a logical being that is capable of independence.

Remember that dog I mentioned earlier? The one she talks to? At a geriatric 14+ the dog refuses to sleep where it’s supposed to, not smell bad, breath quietly or obey anything she tells it to do. Ever. Unless it gets a treat. Gee, who trained who? Also, it has an ear infection, so she responsibly cleans out said disobedient, arthritically stubborn dogs ears at the office. Then blames the smell on that. Ew, people. EW.

As an avid supporter of all things Excel, our company president prefers Excel sheets to, well, anything else. This may come as a shock to all of you, but I am not an Excel tutor. My company pays me to get my work done in a somewhat, almost timely manner (Facebook break!) not explain how to match the square peg with a square hole.

Here is a list of questions I have been asked in the past 48-hours:

Do you like Cold Play?
What happens if I delete a cell?
Can you come here? (Note: I can see her screen, which is big enough for Helen Keller to read, from where I sit.)
Can I ask you a question?
Why isn’t this pasting with I click paste?
Do you have a hair roller thingy?
Responds to own question: Probably not.
What do you think of my…..(trails off not to finish sentence. AT ALL.)
Don’t you love this color?
When are you getting K-Cups?
How do I copy a formula?
How do I copy a cell?
How do I set my mouse with a double-click?
Does B seem crabby?
How late are you staying?
Do we have rechargeable batteries? Yes. We do?
Can I call Kyle?

…I don’t know, can you?

To make it even better, our intern (he’s 30, I like to make fun of him) has caught wind of her need to be right ALL THE TIME and has started inter-office debates with her just to get her going. He’s kidding / she’s serious. If it weren’t so funny, it’d be annoying.

Scratch that: it’s annoying.

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