-The default amount of perfume you should be wearing should not necessitate a Hazmat mask or severe allergies. If the entire elevator smells like your perfume/ aftershave/ lotion for three hours after you've spent all of two minutes in it, you're wearing too much damn perfume.
-As a corollary, keeping six bottles of heavily scented substances at your desk just isn't cool. It doesn't smell good, either.
-For the love of GOD, stop leaving things to rot under stacks of paper. Your new computer will not look good once I vomit on it.
-My name is Melody, or ma'am, or "hey you", NOT "dearie", "sweetie", "girl" and ESPECIALLY not "little one". Do that again and I'll relieve you of several important and out-of-the-way system files. You don't need a browser.
-Indoor fucking voices. You are thirty years old and gainfully employed in a cube farm. I shouldn't be able to hear you all the way from the Metro Station. Shouting in my ear is bound to get you pilloried to the second floor, where the programmers (who have more goddamn sense) live.
-Discussing my shortcomings with your coworkers when you're ten feet away, and constantly glancing at me to see if I'm noticing, also doesn't win you any brownie points.
-A bum hard drive does not make your entire computer bad. No, I am not authorized to replace the entire goddamn computer. Have you heard of hand-receipts, bitch?
-It's not my fault you can't read.
-It's also not my fault that I don't have sufficient permissions to install the drivers for your extraneous USB shite.
-Or your Blackberry. Jesus, haven't you people ever heard of a helpdesk?
-Trying to set me up on dates with the thicker and uglier of the sergeants isn't funny.
-No, I am not interested in converting to Baptism.
-No, I do not want your crappy rip-off Bible. If I want a Bible, I'll bogart a King James Version, you fucking schismatic snake-handling asswipe.
-"She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy" does not need to be played loudly enough that I can hear it five desks away.
-Neither does bad gospel music.
-I do not want to discuss Fred Thompson.
-Or my fellow techs. Frankly, they're all smarter than you lot, and I'm not going to indulge in sniping because your desk wasn't put back exactly the way you want it. We are not in the business of rehanging the truly massive amounts of knick-knacks that festoon your desk.
-I am not an electrician.
-Or a plumber.
-Or a laptop saleswoman.
-Or the Magic Clue Fairy.
-Or capable of installing five computers at once, especially in different cubicles. Wait your turn. There's a reason I've got five installs running concurrently.
-If I'm off of work, I will not troubleshoot for you.
-Especially if it's your home computers or network. I will chat during the install because it's polite, and I insist on being nice to users, as it greases wheels. Outside of work, I hope you die in a fire, you ignorant shitheads.
To the users on the second floor, who brought me cookies, soda, and offerings of cheesecake, you rock. Thank you especially for being embarrassed about your (very clean, I assure you) desks, and helping me untangle the cords.
To the user on the seventh floor who served me some really good gunpowder tea and chatted with me about birdwatching, tea, and Korea, you rock.
To oh, well, pretty much every Army guy or gal that I've worked with, you guys are, on average, the most polite and well-informed bunch in the building, aside from the programmers. Thank you for not making my life difficult.
To a certain Colonel on the second floor: I'd be a lot more impressed with your claims if you hadn't equipped all of Baghdad with Dells. Chump.
Love and Kisses,