Candy Banned: Cow Orker Edition

I enjoy playing a good game. Especially stratergy games. Throw in the concept of work and you’ve got yourself a surefire hit.

You see a coworker take a piece of office candy. You grab an Uzi and gun them down. Sorry, that’s a note to file. That sort of infraction goes on your permanent record. Go back three spaces.
Candy Banned playing card

Last week I came in to work one morning and cow orker was abuzz with excitement. She even said “good morning” in violation of office protocol forcing me to grunt in response on the way to my desk.

I know!

What could possibly have her so worked up I asked myself out of boredom in sheer desperation. I could care less and forgot the whole thing. But then, unbidden, she explained it to me anyway.

“We got another one!” she exuberated breathlessly. “Another one!”

It turned out to be a box of chocolates. See’s Candies, to be precise. And apparently I’m out of the loop since I didn’t know we had a first one. Note to self: Keep skipping office meetings. I’m winning.

No one is looking so you lick every single piece of candy and put it back. You are management material. Move one space in front of the leader.
Candy Banned playing card

A box of chocolates. Momma always said that was something worthy of inducing a litter of kittens. Or, as my mom liked to say, “Shit little green apples.” Yeah, I know. I didn’t fall too far from the tree.

The story went that we received the box of candy with our correct address, but the business name and phone number were wrong. Obviously some kind of mixup. I assumed that meant the boss ripped into the box like a school of piraña snacking on a live cow that had been dropped in their midst. I was stunned to hear, however, that we had actually done the right thing. We called it in!

Holy shit. Will wonders never cease? That might very well be the first ethical act in the office this year.

The good news was that the shipper said, “Aw, hell with it. Keep the box. Do with it what you want. It’s yours. Hell, eat it for all we care.” And thus the unusual amount of joy in the office.

Damn I hated that candy.

You convince your 14-year-old daughter into getting an abortion. Eat one candy belonging to the player of your choice.
Candy Banned playing card

Then, every time someone walked into the office, I had to hear cow orker prattle on about the sweets. Again. She’s telling the story to someone else. It got old rather quickly.

By the way: Who the fuck put her in charge of candy management?

The box made the rounds and I helped myself to a piece. It was coconut chocolate. Luckily a true Survivor like myself can appreciate coconut. It turned out that the entire box was all one flavor. That must have some kind of meaning in the business world. I assumed this was a B2B gift gone awry. What that actually means I don’t know. “Invent. We’re so damn smart we can think of nothing more clever than a monotone box of treats.”

Then the boss urged everyone to take some home. He didn’t want it in the office. It was too tempting. He had already eaten three pounds.

So, a little later, I quietly took a plate over and helped myself. I thought I’d take some home for the Mrs. “Two for her and two for me.” Ah, what the hell. Two more. I paused, then shrugged. Two more. A nice even eight.

As I did this I was nonchalant. I was quiet as a mouse. And I had brought a napkin to lay over the chocolates so no one would peak when I took them back to my desk. What I do is nobody’s motherfucking business.

The chocolates were in those hokey cups of paper. Even though I was careful they still rustled a bit. Almost imperceptibly.

I sat at my desk and was about to turn my attention back to work when I heard cow orker get up out of her chair. (We only sit six feet from each other.)

I knew instantly what was about to happen.

She strolled over to the shipping table where the chocolates had been placed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her scrutinize the box. Then, in her loud, obnoxious alpha-dog-on-steroids voice, she shouted, “Gee, Tom. Just how many pieces did you take?”

I. Shit. You. Not.

Bruce Willis sneaks in and injects the chocolates with liquor. Your opponent passes out. Swap places with another player.
Candy Banned playing card

The audacity of this swamp monster creature knows no bounds. I can’t imagine any way it could have been possibly handled with less tact, grace, diplomacy, intelligence, beauty and deftness of touch. There really is no lower limit to what she can do.

I responded, of course, with the absolute cold shoulder. I was dumbfounded like a deer in the headlights. Wow. Then I gathered my wits and screamed at her in silence as loudly as I possibly could.

Thanks so much for what you add to this awesome place.

19 responses

  1. Boo. You need noise reduction headphones to wear all day long. If I had a coworker say something like that to me, I’d be snarky back in a heartbeat. But I do, however, endorse candy in the office and keep a jar at my desk. All I ask is that you take a piece when I’m here so that we can chat for a minute because I welcome any break I can get these days.


    1. You sound way too nice! Talking to people? Wow. 🙂

      I’ve been studying Buddhism and my silence was an attempt at right speech. You know, bottle it in so you can write about it later. I’m sure that’s what Buddha had in mind. 🙂


  2. Come on, Tom. We all know you’re sweet enough already. Besides…remember that 9.6 per cent.


    1. Like

  3. Sounds like a violent game.
    Purchasing it for my 6 year old nephew now…


    1. What a good uncle. And wherever did you get this crazy idea about it being violent? Wow. Some people will read into almost anything.


  4. I keep a coffee mug full of m&ms at my desk. Keeps the wandering natives happy, and my scalp intact.

    Did I mention that all 32 workers in my office are women? Chocolate soothes. Chocolate doesn’t judge. Chocolate understands.


    1. If my blog hasn’t convinced you yet what a good employee I am, please let me know and I’ll submit my application and resume. I want to work with you guys!

      In 7th grade I was forced to choose between two classes: Wood Shop or Home Economics. I choose the latter and was the only male in a class full of girls. Yes, I had to sew my own apron, but I also got to make and eat chocolate chip cookies at school. FTW!

      What I’m saying is, I have experience in an all-woman environment. 🙂


  5. Reblogged this on Shouts from the Abyss and commented:

    UPDATE: Monday this week cow orker went home early. Later in the day the boss stepped out of the office for a few. A very rare thing. This was when I happened to notice the box of chocolates over by the shipping table. “It’s on motherfuckers,” I said. I grabbed the box and took every remaining piece. The chocolates went on a plate and out to my car. I disposed of the box in the outside trash so there would be no evidence.

    I win.

    Revenge. Justice. Victory.


    1. Revenge is a dish best served…on a plate. Sweet!


      1. I have tasted your heart! It is chocolate. REVENGE!!!


  6. If I knew where to send it, I would send a crate of chocolates to your desk so you could just stare at cow orker while you ate the whole thing!! I’m a team player. 🙂


    1. LOL! And I can imagine the not-sharing that would take place. Legendary.

      The other day I was enjoying some granola as a snack at my desk. The boss stopped by and dropped several subtle comments like, “Wow. That looks so good” and “Can I have some?”

      I got my ignore on. I’m not sharing with the likes of him. Ever. The moment was beyond awkward. And delicious.


      1. Ah, the taste of victory!! One of my biggest pet peeves is people picking food off my plate – and it happens here all the time!! I just don’t get it….this is my lunch, made for my eating regimen….back off people!! Someone may lose a finger or two this summer!!


  7. Tom, considering the amount of snark that happens in my office… you’d be a perfect fit. You and the Mrs. should really think about moving to ND.

    Of course, with the amount of dumbasshattery that happens in my city & state? Your blog would have plenty of fresh fodder, as well!


    1. ND? We are so down for that! And new material? And we’d be neighbors? I like to ride in like Rambo without a jock strap to borrow a cup of sugar. Would that be cool? 🙂


      1. Sugar, Tom? Are you sure you’re looking to borrow a cup of sugar? I’m not sure a sweetener will work with this blog. Or maybe some ex-lax chocolate s’mores would be more appropriate? No, you may NOT give them out to the “Aren’t you a little old for this?” crowd at Halloween next year… that’s MY idea.

        *snort* Sly Stallone at my door in a strip of cloth and elastic… *urp* I would better recognize you if you show up in the Hazmat suit!

        Ohhhh, just great. Now I’ve got the Cardigan King singing that damn ditty in my head… “Won’t you be, won’t you be… please won’t you be… my neighbor?” Grrr…


  8. I just read this at my desk and kept bubbling up with laughter, so now my cow orkers have even more reason to think I’m crazy. Here’s the point of this comment… there’s a ‘woman’ who fits the description of the swamp monster you describe above. We call her Manwich. But I don’t work with her and I will probably never see her again. I feel for you.


    1. We had a hearty laugh over here regarding the “Manwich” appellation. That’s some seriously good shit!

      Swamp monster.
      Dragon lady.
      Umber Hulk.

      My wife dropped BCB the other day and said, “What do you think that stands for?” Without a moment’s hesitation I replied, “Battle C*** B****.” Yeah, I’m just that smooth. She laughed and said, “That definition better than mine.”

      Woot. I win.

      I think we need a post about we call people in the workplace!


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