There are certain sorts of people you can count on to talk non-stop. Canadians, for example. All you have to do is mention hockey. Or pilots. Mention anything technical about flying to a pilot and sit back in the comfort that is knowing you won't be expected to open your mouth for the next two hours. If someone wearing chromed heel pumps walks by a gaggle of New York City women sipping lattes, no one in the vicinity will even hear sirens over the babble about Dolce & Gabbana and Jimmy Chu emanating from that table.
Mention the fucking internal process databases and my neighbour Joey will be on the phone for up to eight hours, murdering the English language at over 90dB.
Joey doesn't have a loud voice normally. He's on the phone as I type this and I'm still able to concentrate. It's only when he tries to speak English. He's uncomfortable with the language (for good reason) and you can hear it in his voice as it rises in tone and volume. And it stays at a level which allows the entire wing to hear him. They don't like it anymore than I do but they've yet to say anything to him. They do mention it to me because, having been voted Most Likely to Climb A Tall Tower with a High-Powered Riffle
seven years in a row, the patience and
fortitude required to tolerate this day-in and day-out is not what one would expect from me. From me they only expect screaming and Scanners
-style head explosions.
A couple of guys here play Bingo, filling in cards with the words and phrases he's most likely to say and checking them off for the win: Greta, Jim, patch repository, crash log DB, Chermany, 'I tell him zat before', 'the system he is waiting', 'he did went', and so on. The game started as a tally system but when "crash log DB" reached 40 inside an hour (with "Greta" a close second at 38), it got tiresome and even more disruptive trying to keep up.
Ripa isn't as bad. She talks on and on but she isn't doing it at over 92dB. I know he hits 95dB because I bought a fucking Radio Shack decibel meter
and measured him. The normal office range is 48-62dB. It doesn't hit 70dB when he's on the phone in German
. The sound rockets up to the 85-90dB range which means he's one hundred times louder
Not 20 times, 100. When he hits 95dB he's reached 200-400 times the loudness, and hit it he does, repeatedly.
All of this blabbering of his is nothing but whinging about the fact that this system -- his baby -- was moved to the US months ago and it ain't going to change. His US counterparts made a play for control, won it with the data center argument (since we in Germany don't have one) and he can't let go. Joey tilts at this windmill at least three times a week for no fewer than two hours at a time, and generally four to six.
I've asked him nicely and repeatedly to be quieter. On his good days I've explained to him how loud he gets when he speaks in English. I've had to tell him to STFU him when I've tried to hear what the fuck was being said in a conf call I was stuck on.
When I told him again to STFU yesterday, he essploded. "I am NOT yell in ze phone!"
I showed him the dB meter. The fucker actually hit 98 dB."I can't help zis!"
Yes you can, Sparky. You only hit 62dB when you speak in German."Vye doan YU move zen?!"
Ah, clever. I
should move my three computers and four screens to a conference room in order to work while you whinge away at Jim and Greta in the US for eight hours on end without once even checking your mail much less actually using one of the four workstations on your desk. You're disrupting the entire fucking wing but I
'm the one who should move to a conf room."Vye doan chu talk wiz Vera ze manager zen?!"
Because, you little pussy motherfucker, I actually believe the two of us ought to be able to talk to each other like adults rather than running like little schoolgirls to the fucking teacher.
Other cow-orkers on the floor couldn't stifle their laughter at this point -- someone not only took Joey to task but more or less called him out for being such a bitch. No surprise that it was me but I'm currently back at the top of Vera's shitlist so this won't help much despite every other cow-orker's willingness to confirm the problem. The schoolgirl remark may well prevent Joey running to Vera like the little bitch he can be but the three-week vacation I'm about to take will do much more to repair the peace.
Three weeks away from these fuckwits. Be still my heart. Or better yet, his.
Labels: cow-orkers, noise