With all due respect, I don't care.

I don't care that you've started taking cold showers and it's really improved your life.

I don't care how much you love dogs. I don't care that you are basically the real-life dog-loving version of Debbie from Match.com. I like dogs. I still don't care.

I literally couldn't care less how hot your former boss is, despite the fact that you have brought it up twice and showed me pictures on Facebook.

I don't care about your high school girlfriends, even if one of them did meet her now-husband on last.fm and you're still bitter that she dumped you. I don't care how much you flirted with hot girls when you were a barista in high school. No, I don't think this is an entertaining way to spend the hour until the old admin assistant gets in and takes my seat, banishing me to one of the back desks. You might have figured this out based on the fact that I spent this time reading the news and going "mm-hmm" at the appropriate points in your stories. I care about the news, and my email, and other things that are not your life.

Yes, I will let you eat lunch at the empty desk next to mine. I feel kind of bad for you for being the new guy in the office, and I don't blame you for wanting to hide from the front desk for a while, given that I don't think our old admin assistant (who is a wonderful person and doesn't put up with anyone's bullshit) likes you very much. A tip, though: the last three admin assistants typically took a half hour and/or ate lunch at their own desks. If you think our boss hates you, taking an hour-long lunch and spending most of it hanging out by my desk is not your best bet for getting her to change her mind.

Speaking of which: in case you were wondering, no, I didn't eat lunch outside the other day just so that I could avoid you. It was a beautiful day outside and I had been planning on eating out there anyway. I did, however, grab my lunch and leave while you were microwaving your food so that you wouldn't ask to join me.

Yes, I like T.S. Eliot. Yes, I know The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. It's one of my favorite poems and if I ever get a tattoo, it would probably be a reference to that poem. No, I don't want to hear you recite it from memory while I'm trying to eat. Or ever, for that matter. Same goes for Baudelaire in the original French.

No, I don't want to check the website you made that tells me if I need a coat today. It's August. I don't.

Yes, I've heard of Tallest Man on Earth. I don't know if I've heard anything by them. No, I don't want to google the lyrics to one of their songs. I really don't want to hear you sing it because "you really need the tune."

I don't care that some of your annoying habits are "cultural." Look, you've been in the US for at least a decade. At this point you should have learned that interrupting people when they're speaking—sometimes to other people—is not "a way of showing that you're engaged in the conversation." It's just rude. Especially if I'm telling a story or explaining something and you interrupt me so that we can talk about something unrelated that has to do with how cool you are. Remember that time when you interrupted a conversation our boss and I were having so that you could ask her a question? Yeah, that conversation wasn't done, as you might have gatheredbased on the fact that our boss was still speaking.

In summary: I don't care. Have some gifs.

An Open Letter To Our New Admin Assistant

An Open Letter To Our New Admin Assistant

An Open Letter To Our New Admin Assistant

An Open Letter To Our New Admin Assistant