I swear, my coworker, let’s call him Barry, hasn’t uttered a sentence without at least three expletives since… well, since I started working here six months ago. It’s like living in a Quentin Tarantino movie, but without the cool violence or snappy dialogue, just the incessant swearing.
At first, I tried to be understanding. Everyone has their quirks, right? Maybe he’s just got a potty mouth. Maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. But it’s escalated. It’s not just casual swearing anymore; it’s like he’s trying to set a new world record for most F-bombs dropped in a single workday.
This morning, he stubbed his toe on his desk leg. “Motherf***ing son of a b**** a**hole desk!” he roared, loud enough for the whole floor to hear. I was on a video call with a client, a very important client, and I could feel my face turning a shade of crimson usually reserved for sunsets. I had to mute myself to stifle a nervous laugh, which just made the whole thing even more awkward. I ended up having to apologize profusely and reschedule the call.
Then, at lunch, he was complaining about the cafeteria food. “This f***ing chicken tastes like f***ing cardboard covered in f***ing s***!” he declared, brandishing his fork like a tiny, angry trident. The poor intern sitting next to us practically choked on her salad.
I’ve tried subtle hints. I’ve coughed pointedly. I’ve even tried staring directly at him, willing him with the sheer power of my gaze to just. stop. swearing. Nothing works. It’s like trying to dam a river with a teaspoon.
Yesterday, I finally cracked a little. He asked me if I’d finished the report. “Yes, Barry,” I said, through gritted teeth. “And would you mind, just for once, phrasing a question without resorting to the entire lexicon of profanity?”
He looked at me, genuinely confused. “What the f*** are you talking about?”
I just sighed. Deeply. I’m starting to think noise-cancelling headphones are a necessary investment. Or maybe a new job. I honestly can’t tell which option is more appealing at this point. It’s getting to the point where I’m starting to absorb his vocabulary. Just the other day, I caught myself muttering “f***ing printer” under my breath. I’m turning into Barry! And that, my friends, is a terrifying thought.
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