FakeWalt

My co-workers label their food in the office fridge. Like having their name on a piece of Tupperware is going to stop me from eating their meatloaf. My people have been taking and pillaging for thousands of years. I am Walt of the Galloway clan, vanquisher of leftovers.

In my ongoing endeavors to play mind games on my employees, I will text them messages like: “I appreciate you.” When they text back inquiring why I have said such a kind thing, I then say, “Sorry, wrong person.” I must build them up so as to knock them down. This is the way.

I’ve been workshopping new parting remarks to co-workers as a I refuse to say “good bye” or “farewell.” I do not wish these good tidings for them. Instead, I've been saying: “Conversation complete. Move along.” Or, “You are no longer useful to me. Step aside.” Seems more honest.

HR is such a tease. When I became manager, I was told I had the power to terminate employees. I always knew that to be the case but it seemed like I was being legally sanctioned to do so. Then I found out that "terminate" doesn't mean what I thought. Talk about a bait and switch.

Part of my job as manager is to prepare my workers from the inevitable attack by other departments. As such, I refuse to let my employees yawn or sneeze. It makes us too vulnerable. I tell 'em, if you have to yawn, growl instead. If you have to sneeze, punch yourself in the groin

Sometimes an employee will ask if they can knock off from work early. I'll always respond by saying, "Well, you can, but..." I never finish the sentence. When they inquire what that means, I look away and go about my business. No one has ever left work early under my watch.

A co-worker recently accused me of being passive-aggressive. I took great offense to this. My intention is always to be aggressive-aggressive. Clearly, I need to adjust my work level alert state to DEFCON RAGE. I will no longer be misunderstood.

About once a quarter, I'll text each of my employees the following: "You made yourself vulnerable with your recent comments. I've done all I can for you. Be careful." When they ask what's happening, I'll just reply, "I've said all I can say."

I've been asked what's one thing I try to instill in those I manage? My response: fear. Does fear fuel failure? Probably. But I just enjoy the frenzy too much.

I disdain the practice of knocking before entering a co-worker's office. In the wild, you would never announce your presence to a foe. No, I either hide in their office hours before they arrive or kick down their door. If they're not surprised to see me, then I failed.

I went camping at a state park and was soon surrounded by bears. I sent out a message: "With my family in the heart of the forest and bears have besieged us. All we have with us are a knife and food provisions for a day. Please send help...for the bears."

The copier at works keeps taunting me with things like "Paper Jam" & "Error." I taunt him back to no avail. Nonetheless, I know one day he will go from "Xerox, the Great" to "Xerox, the Vanquished." One day I will wear his buttons around my war necklace as a conquered foe. Soon.

My co-worker entered our team meeting five minutes late. I glared at him for the entirety of the meeting and he became uncomfortable. This is why I love banking: the opportunity to defeat my opponents without ever entering the battlefield.

My co-workers are disgusted because I refuse to plunge my clogged toilets at work. First, they should be glad I made it to a toilet. Secondly, I leave my bowel movements for their benefit. It’s important they see and smell the waste of a champion. I do it all for them.

“Humble thyself and join my ranks as an ally or stand opposed and announce yourself an enemy. It matters not which, just make your choice swiftly.” HR informed me this is not an appropriate out-of-office email message. They have chosen their side.

A manager once condescendingly told me, “Dress for the job you want not for the job you have.” That’s what I’ve been doing! I’ve obviously always wanted to be a butcher. The bank just flatly refuses to promote me.

I was dinged on my last performance review for having a “low social IQ.” They don’t get it. I know how I’m supposed to act but I’m purposely rude and distant. It’s what I’m good at.

I’ve been asked if my brow ever un-furrows. It does not. My face is always at war with the world.

A co-worker inquired about my musk. I told her I have no use for underarm antiperspirants. All I require is a monthly bathe in the swamp and a daily roll in a woodchuck carcass. They say she walked away in disgust. I know the truth: she was mesmerized.

I do not understand the fascination with Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster. I have slayed such beasts. I found their fight to be weak and their meat to be bland. Now, the Nine-Banded Armadillo? That’s a creature to marvel at. A worthy adversary in every sense of the term.