April 9th, 2010 by kruzman
We’ve all been there. You round the corner to your desk ready to start the day’s work when you are suddenly accosted by the familiar stench of a co-worker’s bad breath.
“Here we go again…”, you think. “Another ‘H’-filled tirade that won’t ever permeate my ears because I’m too busy trying to keep it from permeating my nose.”
“So anywahhhhy,” continues your co-worker, “Hhhhank Hhhhenshhhhaaw from Hhhhuman Reshhhhourcess told me ouhhhhhr 401k plahhhhn is an outstahhhhnding invehhhhhstment optiohhhhhn…”
Somehow, we’d like to think that our forced smile and wilting eyelashes might tell the offending party that there’s something less than stellar about the way they are coming across. Unfortunately, that’s simply wishful thinking. The problem is that no one knows they have a problem. We seem to be immune to our own stench, and unlike Willy Nelson’s muse, it’s never on our minds.
So how do you tell someone that their breathe is causing you to have a problem differentiating their head from their derriere? Sure, if it’s someone you know and are comfortable with, you can try honesty. Still, even honesty has it’s own set of problems. Do you play it off like it’s a one-time occurrence you just noticed and hope that mentioning it takes care of the situation for good? Do you sit them down and have a serious discussion which could ultimately embarrass them or make you look like the bad person? How will they react to either scenario? You’d want to be told if you had bad breath, wouldn’t you? Would you feel comfortable being told by this person that you have bad breath? Do you really know them well enough to be discussing this situation with them?
These are all important questions whose answers will vary with each unique situation. Still, there are some things you can avoid saying that are universal across all situations. I have taken the liberty of listing a few of them below. Remember, honesty is the best policy, but brutal honesty is often unnecessary.
# 1 Gee, is that your breath or did I blow my nose right after wiping my you know what?
# 2 And now here’s me with the weather: Thanks, me! Well it looks like there’s a stank front moving due east from wherever your mouth happens to be. We’re looking at a 100% chance of Halitosis throughout the rest of your life. Sports is next followed by today’s lottery numbers. Stay Tuned!
# 3 I don’t mean to be rude but your horrible breath is melting my face. To have to stand here and listen to you is agonizingly painful. Hey, you ever see that “Alien” movie where the alien is breathing in Sigourney Weaver’s face and she just cringes because the thing is so scary and because it’s saliva is an acid that can eat through metal? This is a lot like that because even though your saliva won’t eat through metal, I’m fairly certain your mouth-stench will and that is scaring the crap outta me, my friend. Again, I don’t mean to be rude…
So you see, dear reader, one must choose carefully when approaching a subject this sensitive. Perhaps honesty is not always the best policy. Better yet, why not just leave an anonymous note…and a breath mint.
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August 23rd, 2009 by kruzman
A frantic businessman rushed into the emergency room, threw his attaché case on the reception desk, and exclaimed, “Nurse, I need help!”
The noise woke her up, and she said, “What?”
“This is an emergency!” he said.
“You’ll have to take your place in line,” she informed him.
“What line?” he replied, looking around. “The place is empty.”
“Oh,” she admitted, and held out her hand. “Can I have your insurance card?”
“Sure,” he said, “what’s that?”
“Proof that you have health insurance.”
“Oh, proof,” he said.
Just then a door flew open and a man was wheeled across the room on a table, accompanied by a doctor with a notepad.
“Relax,” the doctor told him. “It’s only a heart attack.”
“But I need help, now, or I could die,” the man informed him.
“Don’t be silly,” the doctor replied. “I already gave you aspirin. That increases survival rate by an average of 33.3%. Now, I have to ask you some questions. Up to four blood vessels in your heart may need replacement.”
“So?”
“Your insurance only covers two. I need your permission to do the others.”
“OK, OK!” the man consented.
“Good,” the doctor acknowledged. “Now, would you like anesthesia?”
“Of course,” the patient said.
“Excellent,” the surgeon went on. “Your policy is vague on that. Now, when I’m done with the bypass, would you like me to sew you back up?”
“What!?” the patient needed to know.
“Your insurance only covers the incision,” the doctor informed him.
At that point, the patient was wheeled off through the other door.
The businessman turned his attention back to the night nurse. “Nurse! I can’t wait all day. I have appointments to keep!”
“Maybe you should come back later,” she let him know.
“I would, if I could,” he told her. “But that’s my problem. I can’t remember what my appointments are.”
“Why not?”
“It’s terrible, just terrible,” he nearly cried. “I lost my memory!”
“Oh,” she noted, and handed him a form on a clipboard. “First, you have to fill this out.”
He looked it over, and said, “I’m in deep trouble.”
“Is there a problem?” the nurse asked.
“You want to know things like my name, my address, and my phone number! How can I tell you stuff like that when I lost my memory?”
“I’m sorry, sir. Everyone has to fill one of these out. If you can’t do it yourself, you’ll have to have a family member or friend do it for you.”
“But, nurse,” he explained, “if I could remember who my family and friends are, I’d still have my memory.”
“I’m sorry,” she insisted, “rules are rules.”
Just then a cute young wife hurried in, pulling her husband along. He seemed to be in pain and held a small paper bag.
“Excuse me,” she told the businessman, and addressed the nurse. “This is an emergency!”
“Oh,” the nurse said.
“We have to see a doctor right away,” the man added through his apparent agony.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” the nurse responded.
“I don’t have a minute!” the man replied.
“We have to see a doctor now!” the wife told her.
“Everybody does,” the businessman observed, obviously getting into the swing of things. Then, as if to himself, he lamented, “Oh, I used to have such a great memory! I mean, I could never recite The Iliad or anything like that. But, as least, I could remember my name and address!”
“You don’t understand, nurse,” the wife pressed on. “There’s not a second to spare!”
“What’s seems to be the problem?” the nurse asked.
“We had an argument,” the man sighed, and nearly fainted.
“I love him,” the wife said. “You have to believe I love him. And I’m sorry. But–“
“– What?” asked the nurse.
The man pointed to the bag, and said, “She cut off my navel.”
“Your navel?” the nurse inquired, and turned to the wife. “Why that part?”
“She said, ‘I wish you were never born,’” the husband told her. “Then she whacked it off.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” his wife said, consoling him with a pat or two.
“I need somebody to sew it back on before it’s too late,” the man said.
The nurse gave his wife a clipboard with a form on it. “Fill out this paper and have a seat.”
“We don’t have time for that!” she screeched.
“My navel is dying, dying with every passing moment!” the man wailed.
“And how would you like to be married to a man without a navel?” the wife begged to know.
“A doctor will be with you shortly,” the nurse replied.
“Come on, darling. I’ll fill it out,” the wife said, leading her husband by his free hand.
They took a seat, and, dutiful wife that she was, she began to fill in the information.
The businessman observed them with an increasingly crazed expression, and told himself, “I’ve got to remember something, anything, even if it’s just something general. Plato said something. I know he did. Ah, that’s it! ‘You become what you do.’ Hey, maybe I’m a classical scholar. No, no – I have too many appointments for that. Maybe I’m a philosophy major who went into business. Oh, I don’t know, I just don’t know!” he admitted, and turned to the nurse. “I have to see a doctor, now!”
“Is your form filled out?”
“Here,” he said, and handed it to her.
“It’s blank,” she informed him.
“That’s the point!” he shouted. “It’s blank, I’m blank! Get it! I lost my memory.”
“Don’t you have a wallet?”
“Why?”
“You must have some I. D. in it,” she explained.
“Hey, why didn’t I think of that?” he said, and took out his wallet.
At that moment, an intern who seemed not to have anything to do for a split second, entered the waiting area. “Who’s next?” he dared to ask the nurse.
The businessman held up his wallet and was about to speak, when the wife rushed up with her pained husband in tow, hand with clipboard extended.
“We are! We are, doctor!” she claimed.
“She cut off my navel,” the man told the doctor, in an effort to claim precedence.
“Your navel?” the doctor asked, and said, “That’s really serious.” Then he turned to the nurse, “But who’s next?”
The nurse pointed to the businessman. “But he hasn’t filled out his form yet.”
“That’s all right,” the doctor said, and turned to him. “You can finish it while we’re talking.”
Feeling a pang of fellow feeling, the businessman replied, “No, no, doctor – I can wait. I only lost my memory. On the other hand, he–“
“– lost my navel,” the husband interrupted.
“All right,” the doctor conceded, turning to the husband and wife. “Come with me.”
“Oh, thank you!” the wife told the businessman.
“Now, tell me,” the doctor asked the husband, as the couple followed him, “how did you lose your navel?”
“She cut it off,” the husband groaned.
“Family spat?” the doctor queried.
“You could say that,” the man answered.
“I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?” the wife retold him.
When they had disappeared behind the swinging door, the businessman began to fill out his form, referring to the cards he felt fortunate to find in his wallet. “Name, address,” he mumbled to himself. “It must be me because it’s my wallet. But what about my appointments? And my wife’s name, if I have a wife? I can’t go home without knowing that!”
As he toiled, another intern entered.
“Next,” the nurse said, pointing at the businessman.
“Oh, thank you,” he told her.
“What seems to be the problem?” the intern asked.
“I lost my memory.”
“Sorry about that,” the intern said. “How did it happen – a traumatic emotional event, a knock in the head, something you ate?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” the businessman said, taking his PDA out of his attaché case. “You see, I keep everything in my electronic organizer. At first, it was a convenience. Then, over time, I became dependent on it. My own memory withered from disuse. Finally, I couldn’t remember anything without it. Nothing. Zip. Then today, it happened.”
“What?” the doctor asked.
“The worst possible thing. The battery died.”
“Oh, my,” the doctor admitted. “That’s serious. I better take notes.”
He removed a PDA from his pocket and motioned for the businessman to follow him.
As they walked toward the swinging door, he asked, “Now, tell me, when did you first notice the problem?”
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July 31st, 2009 by kruzman
A trendy new nightclub that caters to baby boomers who find themselves unexpectedly single was raided by police last night. Acting on a tip from a twenty-something couple who entered the hotspot by accident, police were able to determine that many of the partying patrons were dropping antacid.
The owner, who was taken away in cuffs, claimed, “I had no idea some of the customers were dropping that stuff. But somehow they were smuggling it past the bouncers – Alka-Seltzer, Tums, Rolaids, you name it. Had I known, I would have slipped them some complimentary club soda.”
A female boomer noted, as she was being booked, “I admit it. I’ve become addicted to Alka-Seltzer How would you like to be in your fifties and be back out on the meat market? I just hope my children understand.”
A male patron, who was apprehended while attempting to escape as fast as he could amble down the street, lamented, “I’m single, I’m upset, so no wonder I need regular doses of Mylanta. And there’s nothing I won’t do to get it – rob, murder, even pick up a bottle at the drugstore.”
To the relief of the distraught boomers, who have a seemingly irrepressible urge to enjoy life even into their later decades, the club is scheduled to reopen tonight.
However, upon arrival the trendy crowd will notice that a new sign has been placed above the entrance, notifying them that “The Possession Of Antacid On These Premises Is Strictly Forbidden.”
I propose the 5 p.m. to 9 p.m. club. This is the time frame that middle-aged people have to enjoy their time with others before they crash and need to nap. Why not place napping stations in the club to allow us to catch a power nap and continue partying until 9.
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July 23rd, 2009 by kruzman
April fool’s day is a favorite day for some, because there are many funny jokes that can be played. But when you are working for ‘The Man’ humor can be unacceptable. The workplace has become a controversial place for funny jokes, because what is funny to one person can be considered an attack by another. Finding humor at another person’s expense can cause many stressful days at work or even many lawsuits.
Many companies hold informational meeting on not practicing office humor, because they don’t want any of there workers to be offended. However, at time companies can cross the line on what is acceptable and not acceptable. Part of the problem with telling a person that funny jokes or humor is not acceptable is that if a person can not enjoy themselves at work the workplace will become uninviting and the workers unhappy.
‘Night Court’ was a sitcom that came out quite a few years ago. The judge on the show was always having fun, but playing practical jokes occasionally got him in trouble. However, most of the time the judge’s antics allowed him to see a larger scope of the people he met and he was able to help them to better their lives. A saying that many companies need to learn is the ‘a little levity never hurt’. Allowing personnel the opportunity to send jokes through email and find humor in some of the bad things that may happen in the office can help to handle stress and bring a better camaraderie between the workers.
Where the line needs to be drawn on funny jokes and humor is if the joke shows a racial or gender bias or if the joke is intended to harm another or cause a person to be made to look bad (especially in the eyes of their superiors). Harmful jokes or humor should never be acceptable in the workplace. Every individual should be responsible for their actions and take steps to know what is acceptable and will be found as a funny joke. If a joke is questionable the individual should recognize that that type of humor should be refrained from.
A company does have the responsibility to uphold its reputation and should educate its employees on acceptable humor and what would be considered a not so funny joke. However, companies should also take steps to allow their employees a fun work place. Part of this may include allowing a worker to use email to send jokes to people they know. One suggestion for the workplace may be to have a ‘no joke’ list and if people do not want to receive jokes through email they can place themselves on the list.
Humor and jokes should be allowed in the work place to allow a happier and more jovial work environment. A funny joke can cheer up a person’s day and a little humor can relieve stress. If an individual is responsible to not offend a person and the company encourages their work force to be happy working for ‘The Man’ wouldn’t be so bad.
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July 11th, 2009 by kruzman
A newborn infant, who showed unusual promise in the hospital nursery in the modulation of her of coos and cries and was immediately swept from her mother’s arms to Harvard University, has now been disgraced as a mere plagiarist.
It seems that the infant, commissioned to write an original succession of coos and cries by a wily book packager, had listened, intentionally or not, to the coos and cries of her fellow newborns during her brief stay at the hospital.
Hapless child that she was, she could hardly do more than imitate their enchanting litany.
Now all has been uncovered and the infant is widely disgrace and currently inflicting unnecessary mortification on herself.
Along with the author’s disgrace with fortune and adult’s eyes, the once storied publishing company of Little Baby & Company, which optioned, not only one but two books of coos and cries from the infant, now has pabulum on its face.
To recuperate as much as possible from the catastrophic descent of its reputation, it has cancelled its contract with the babe, not only for a revised version of its present rendition of infant sounds, but for the second collection, for which, in its eagerness to make money even at the cost of its intellectual dignity, paid the newborn the sum of $700,000 for the expected twin bestsellers.
As usual, the rains of time will wash away the pabulum and the child, we hope, having one day realized the immensity of her transgression, will have the wisdom to attribute it to her preconscious state of relative unconsciousness and will go on to achieve whatever she may in the yet unknown possibilities of her post coos-and-cries intellectual development.
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