Here’s what I hate: instructional videos for tasks that don’t benefit from a visual demonstration. My boss just forced me to watch a 15-minute blatherscreed that could’ve been summarised as follows:
- Open Slack.
- Join our team.
- Look down the left-hand side: those channels with your initials on them? Those are yours. Look at their names: those are also their functions. SM-Editing?—that’s where you talk to your editor. SM-Billing?—well, you get the idea.
- Use Slack. Don’t e-mail one another. I want to be able to look at 100% of your work product, 100% of the time.
- Thank you*.
I mean, this thing was…I could feel myself getting older and closer to the end of my life. My boss, man…he hemmed. He hawed. He pressed the wrong thing and had to go back. There was even a bit—and I wish I were joking—he was waiting for Slack to load, and it wouldn’t. It timed out. And he went to their website, all “tech support, tech support, uh…contact, now, if I were a contact link, where would I be?” And he couldn’t find it, and he couldn’t find it; fortunately, Slack rebooted and logged him in automatically. And I saw it all. Why’d I have to see that? I’d’ve rather he’d goatsed me.
So, I hated that. Another thing I hate: when I lose the puffy thing from my keyboard—y’know, the puffy thing—one of those soft strips with the foam, and you put it on your laptop, and the edge of the keyboard doesn’t dig into your wrists…I hate when I lose that. I hate even more when I find it again, and there’s a spider squashed to it.
I hate kale. It tastes funny. I mean, I’ll eat it, and all, but arugula’s better, or lettuce, or bok choy, or pretty much anything else green.
Ew. There’s a guy humping a tree outside the Dollarama. WTF, dude—he’s really going for it. And I hate him, too.
I hate birds fly-by shitting my windows. I hate Super Mario Brothers (and other games I can’t win). I hate nausea that doesn’t respond to ondansetron, and irritates me all day. I hate milk, cars, damp things, and big-body spiders. I hate dust.
Ha, ha: a girl in pink just walked by and sneezed. Her whole head did a bobble thing, like a sudden-stop pitch.
I hate that I can’t go outside, today.
…and, look: here’s a dog. Go on. Bite me, Fido.
* Not actually included, but let’s presume it was implied.