All in a day's work

The following is one day of complaints about John:

I keep getting updates on what the weather will be in Wisconsin where John will be taking his vacation.  Usually, I wouldn’t mind, but it’s getting aggravating.  I know the weather is nice in the north during the summer.  But seriously, stop telling me.  I don’t care. 

Stop talking about your vacation.  I have to stay here while you’re gone.   

He has a bit of an issue with bragging, I’ve noticed.  He has a trophy on his desk from years before he started working here.  Meaning that he was sitting at home one day and thought, "I want people to know I played baseball.  I know!  I'll take that trophy in so people will know I was good."

About the things people are buying you for your wedding, I care even less than I do about your vacation.  I think it’s selfish to want people to buy you new flatware.  Especially two sets of it because you want more spoons.  I understand that spoons get used more than other utensils, but buy them yourself.  “Hey, I’m already asking you to come to my wedding, you better bring a present, too!”  He checks his, I mean, her registry information on a regular basis. 

He drew a picture of his new house and yard on his dry erase board.  If I would have let him keep it the way it was, it wouldn’t have been recognizable as a building.  Yes, he was the only one who put marker to white board, but I told him about perspective and realism and scale.  Otherwise, it would have looked like a kid drew it.  And not one of those super smart Doogie Howser kids.  A regular, run of the mill, oblivious child.  Somebody the other day asked him if he did it.  He said yes.  She said it’s great! All I wanted was, he helped me a bit.  Well, all I want is to be listed as the art director, but I’ll settle for a little credit. 

He keeps counting down the hours to his vacation.  I hope he realizes, even though I know he doesn’t, that it just makes my day last longer.  If I could, I would cover up all the clocks in my cubicle in hopes that time would pass more quickly. 

Now he’s telling me about who he thinks bought what on his list.  Like I’m keeping tabs.  I understand sharing, but this is obviously oversharing. 

He just got off the phone with his fiancée because a coworker was waiting to talk to him.  The way he ended the conversation, in that lovey, crazy-girl-gloves tone of voice, made me start shaking in disgust.  Gross.