I've been working at this graphic design company since January, 2001, when I started as an intern. That summer, a woman who had been there a few years announced she was moving to Connecticut. Two freelancers were hired on until a suitable replacement could be found. One of them was an older woman who the company had used in the past, but ultimately turned out to be a little slow when it came to computers. To her credit, in her day she was the best damn telegraph operator John D. Rockefeller had in his employ. The other freelancer, the one that ended up with the job, was Joe.
Joe seemed to be a perfect fit for the company. He had spent years as production director at his previous company, and had a vast knowledge of the business. And he was pretty friendly, albeit a little on the loud side. But everyone has their quirks.
The fourth line on the phone was designated for the fax, and whenever the phone rang and fourth line lit up, Joe would say "Faxinating!" Sometimes, he'd chase it with "Should I answer it?" You could write it off as just another quirk at first, but after a while, these "quirks" started to multiply exponentially. One day, out of the blue, he announced, "You sir, are a dickhead," to absolutely no one in particular. Just another quirk, I guess. With every utterance, each quirk entered into a chrysalis of "minor irritation," until finally emerging as a beautiful, full-blown annoyance.
Day in, day out, it was the same few phrases. Over and over again.
"Hassan Chop!"
"Are you my special friend?"
"Na na na, na nana na, na na na na nananna na. The Banana Splits. Arhrhrhrahgghg"
The guy was relentless. It was like Chinese water torture. As the one sitting the closest to him, it was only a matter of time before I started to catalog how many times he'd spout his "Joe-isms" a day. It was either that or hit him repeatedly with bricks.
So I posted my grievances on a message board I frequent. Almost immediately, people began to sympathize and share their own office stories. Before long, people all over the world knew about Joe. "Holy D'Artagnan, Batman!" and "Arrurruurrghgh!" popped up all over people's signatures. There was even an "I know Joe" club. Somehow, Joe became a phenomenon. An anti-hero for the working masses. When I started this blog, I incorporated a lot of the Joe stuff, including the Joe-kus, and even more people got in on it.
I have to admit, I feel more than a little guilty about it all. The thing is, he really is a nice guy. He always asks how you're doing, but he does it while standing two centimeters from your face. No regard for personal space. But he genuinely wants to know. And he's always willing to help. If you were trapped in a burning building, Joe would run right in and rescue you without a second thought. But then he'd remind you about it every day until one of you was dead.
"Hey, remember that time I rescued you?"
"Yeah, I almost died. You tend not to forget things like that."
That's Joe. The man who wore sandals to work last week. The man who continues to pronounce the "s" in "Illinois," no matter how many times he's corrected. The man who speaks fake Spanish. Loudly.
Anyway, I was looking back at some of the stuff that I'd written down over the past few years. One of my favorites was when he announced that "Jen and J-Lo" had broken up. And who could forget when he sang Springtime for Hitler all day? Actually, he just said "Springtime...for Hilter...and Ger-man-ee!" for three minutes straight. I don't know if that really counts as singing. Eventually, we realized he was never going to stop saying stupid stuff. We decided to make the most of it by creating a game, Jingo.
Jingo, was basically Bingo. Clandestinely, Jingo sheets where handed out each morning, each with the 25 most-used Joe-isms arranged differently. Throughout the day, we'd listen for Joe to say one of the 25 words or phrases, and the first with five in a row would be the winner. Surprisingly enough, after playing for a week, no one got a Jingo yet. I was always just one away from a Jingo. "C'mon, say Arrghgrhrghr! It's you're signature thing!"
Jingo proved to make working with Joe a little more palatable. But we were still tired with the same old, same old. But...but what if we could somehow get him to at least say new stupid stuff? That's how "the experiment" began.
Like Jingo, it was a game; a contest. The object was to try to coax Joe into working some new sayings into his oeuvre. We each came up with a well-known phrase. John T. chose "Time to make the donuts." John M. went with "L'eggo my Eggo!" Mine was "I'm not going to pay a lot for this muffler," which may sound long, but my logic was that it lent itself perfectly to be followed by his infamous "Arruurrghrgrurggrahh."
John T. kicked things off, by talking about a deadline for a job he was working on, followed by, "Well, I guess it's time to make the donuts." Oh, that sneaky little bugger. After that, we all began sporadically saying our phrases to see how long it would take Joe to mimic them. A day later, Joe said "Let go my Eggo." John M. stood up and cheered, but the ruling on the field was that the actual line is "L'eggo my Eggo". He has to say the correct line for it to count. Likewise, a few days later, he said "Time to make donuts."
It's "Time to make THE donuts!" THE! THE! Geez. I was starting to think no one was ever going to win this thing. He did eventually say it right, but by that time we pretty much stopped caring. Or I did, anyway. And even though John T. got him to say his phrase, he hasn't really said it since then, making the whole experiment a bust. Oh, well. At least we still have Jingo.
Hmm...I wonder if Joe saw this article? Thanks again to janey_13 for the assist.
More about Joe:
The Tao of Joe, The Tao of Joe II, Eminem Knows Joe?, It Looks More Like Aztek to Me, Joe Rides Again, Joe-kus
Labels: Joe
