By far the worst, most insufferable, and pointless office tradition of all is “Take Your Child to Work Day.” Sure, the office birthday parties and goodbye happy hours are terrible, but at least you get some cake and beer out of it. With Take Your Child to Work Day, all you get are a bunch of miserable spoiled brats running around like they own the place, and there’s nothing you can do about it because your boss has been outside his office more on this one day than he has been in a month, parading his brat around like she’s the best thing since sliced bread. Are there no rules on this most awful of days of the year? Is there some unwritten rule I don’t know about where it is proper etiquette to let your kid run around an office like it’s a fuckin’ jungle gym — screaming, bouncing balls in the hall, stopping in your doorway and just staring at you work?
The absolute WORST of all of this is having to pretend you give a shit and are interested in your boss’ dipshit kid’s accomplishments when your boss inevitably stops by your cube, “Hey, have you met Billy? His team just won the fourth grade basketball tournament” (a true quote I once got from my boss). Fuck you, you little bitch. I could care less. I could beat your entire basketball team singlehandedly. Just because your daddy is a partner doesn’t mean your shit don’t stink. It’s bad enough that you have to work with these people every day of your pathetic cube monkey life, but on this day, you have to deal with miniature versions of the very people you hate more than anything.
If your old office participated in this most asanine of traditions, you know exactly where I’m coming from, and have probably thought of the Top 10 ways to kills yourself while at work, as I have.
This is my hell,
I talked about this on the last episode of KFCRadio. Take Your Child To Work Day is absolutely one of the worst moments of a Cubicle Monkey’s year because it really tests the boundaries of acceptable human behavior. Every single waking second you’re at work, you’re one annoying moment away from a murder/suicide. The littlest thing can send you into a fit of rage. Printer being jammed. Office douche making the “I didn’t get the memo” joke. Boss asking “working hard or hardly working?” If all of these little moments of cube misery might push you over the edge, how the fuck are you supposed to play babysitter for the day without a MurderDeathKill?
How the fuck am I supposed to react when my manager brings her kid by my cube because she’s drawn me some piece of shit picture? Hey little girl, thanks for this fucking awful drawing. I can’t even tell what animal thats supposed to be. Whats that? Its a dog? Dogs don’t have wings you stupid motherfucker. I feel like Maddox from the Best Page In The Universe when I look at that garbage. But of course you can’t react that way because its a 7 year old girl and your manager is looming over your cube watching you. So you grin and bear it and let them play with all the shit on your desk and distract you from G Chatting and all the other things that keep you sane. Hard to place Guess That Ass or creep on Facebook with a 2nd grader in your cube. Makes you wanna grab them by the face and explain that their parent is the anti-Christ. Hey Suzie you love your Daddy so much? Well guess what? There are about 30 people on this floor that plot specific ways to murder your dad and get away with it. I personally hope he dies in a fire. Can you draw me a picture of that? Draw me a picture of Daddy perishing in a pit of fire and I’ll hang that up right in the middle of my cube.
Cube Life is hard enough when you’re not playing Mary Poppins. So leave your goddam kids at home with the nanny and let me get back to rotting away in peace.