Stabworthy office denizens http://jroller.com/page/fate?entry=stabworking_office_denizens
Is there a polite way to inform a coworker that they have a personal habit that makes one want to slowly rip off one's own arms and hurl them in the general direction of said coworker just to get them to stop, however briefly?
Over the years, I've been confronted with what feels like more than my fair share of obnoxious habits. So much so that I'm starting to suspect that it could just be that I'm such a sensitive sort that the merest distraction is enough to make me want to cry like a little girl.
It all started with the tapper. At the time, I was working in a location where the floor had no carpet, in an artsy sort of venue, where most of the developers laboured under the foolish notion that they're also musicians and expert music critics. The tapper's methodology would go as follows. He'd bring in his fatass Seinheisser headphones, plop them on his severely underpopulated head, and listen to music. All is well so far, perfectly anti-social and work-friendly behaviour. The fun though starts shortly thereafter, where he starts twitching his entire body in sync to this imaginary music. This was no mere head bobbing up and down sort of event, nor is it the odd foot waggle. Oh no, it's a full body spasm, where the feet tap furiously, the arms jerk onto the desk, and the wheelie chair he's on periodically slides out from under him. It got so bad that I would have to take regular breaks from work depending on his energy levels. This went on for six months, and I never figured out a polite way of suggesting that my life would be vastly improved if he either became a quadriplegic or lost all his limbs.
Next we have the eater. The eater consumes lunch at the office (nothing wrong with that, of course.) The eater however does not consume his lunch in a manner than civilised people have been taught to. The eater consumed it with a perplexing disregard for that simplest of eating axioms, close thy mouth, you obnoxious loud fuck.
The eater feels the need to share every single chew with his mesmerised audience. Whether or not you want to, you will discover the exact texture of everything the little shit ingests. Soups will be slurped, moist sandwiches will be squished moistly, and every bite will be followed with one of those loud caricatures of a swallow that normal people only use for the sake of exaggeration or effect. Don't even get me started on the deafening roar of drink gulps.
There are other varieties, depressingly. Just when you think you'll never have to deal with one of these again, you're confronted with a...nail clipper. Yes indeed, some people think it's perfectly sensible to clip their nails (all 20) in the office.
The problem with these, unlike the farters and burpers, is that it's impossible to tell if they've just never found out that behaving in this manner is uncouth and unacceptable, so you can't make a joke about it or even tell them off. A farter knows he's doing something wrong, and will either look sheepish or brag in the face of authority. The tappers, chewers, clippers, heavybreathers, twitchers, rockers, pokers, patters, sportsyellers, arsebandits, hairstrokers, beardedwonders, turdmisflushers, malpissers, snotwipers, peepers, (those who come up behind you, ask you a question, then just stand there indefinitely looking at your screen), and other such office flora and fauna seem to be blissfully unaware. I'm sure I haven't even covered the worst of it. Is there an acceptable way of dealing with such without committing a crime or copious amounts of blood?