Welcome to the Shitshow: Where We’re Grown but Apparently Not Adults

There is absolutely nothing that prepares you for being a grown-ass adult and realizing that somehow, somewhere, your workplace turned into a middle school cafeteria with direct deposit.

Seriously.

I came here to work.

That’s it.

I did not clock in to participate in Keeping Up With Who’s Mad at Who This Week.

I don’t need the latest episode of “She Said, He Said, But Actually Someone’s Cousin Heard…”

I don’t need to know who unfollowed who.

I don’t care who didn’t say hello when they walked through the door.

And I definitely don’t have the emotional bandwidth to decode why someone slammed a cabinet slightly harder than usual.

We are adults.

With bills.

Some of us have children.

Some of us have entire careers.

Why the fuck are we still forming cliques like we’re trying to figure out who gets to sit at the cool table during lunch?

Workplace drama is honestly fascinating because half the time it starts over absolutely nothing.

Someone takes something the wrong way.

Instead of asking about it, they tell three coworkers.

Those coworkers tell two more.

Someone adds a little razzle-dazzle to the story.

By the end of the shift, apparently someone threatened to burn the building down when all they actually said was, “Okay.”

And now everybody’s mad.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting there wondering if I can legally fake my own death before my next shift.

And don’t even get me started on passive-aggressive behavior.

If you have a problem with me, please just fucking tell me.

Use your words.

We learned this in kindergarten.

You do not have to sigh dramatically every time I walk into the room.

You don’t have to make vague Facebook posts.

You don’t have to whisper to someone and immediately stop talking when another person walks in.

You don’t need to recruit an entire jury of coworkers to validate why you’re mad.

Just communicate.

It’s free.

What’s even more exhausting is how quickly people forget that we are all supposed to be on the same damn team.

You don’t have to like everyone you work with.

I cannot emphasize this enough.

You do not have to be friends with your coworkers.

You don’t have to hang out after work.

You don’t have to share personal details.

You don’t have to invite each other to birthday parties, weddings, cookouts, or whatever the hell else.

But you should be able to walk into work, be respectful, communicate like an adult, do your job, and go home without turning every minor disagreement into World War III.

Because here’s the thing:

Not every personality is going to mesh.

Some people are loud.

Some are quiet.

Some joke constantly.

Some want to be left the hell alone until they’ve had caffeine.

Some people communicate differently.

And sometimes you’re simply not going to like someone.

That’s okay.

You know what isn’t okay?

Making everyone else’s shift miserable because you don’t.

I think the older I get, the less interested I become in workplace politics.

Tell me what needs to be done.

Tell me where you need help.

Tell me if I fucked something up so I can fix it.

Other than that?

I genuinely do not care about the drama.

I’m tired.

My life outside of work already has enough plot twists.

I don’t need bonus episodes during my shift.

I want coworkers who can laugh together, disagree without declaring lifelong enemies, help each other when shit hits the fan, and understand that having one bad interaction doesn’t mean we need to start choosing sides.

Maybe that’s asking too much.

But adulthood is already chaotic enough.

We’re all dealing with things nobody at work knows about.

We’re stressed.

We’re exhausted.

We’re trying to pay bills, raise families, survive relationships, manage our mental health, chase goals, and somehow remember what fucking day it is.

The last thing any of us need is unnecessary bullshit from people we’re literally being paid to stand beside.

So please.

Drink your coffee.

Do your job.

Communicate.

Stop creating conspiracy theories over somebody’s tone of voice.

And for the love of everything holy—

stop turning the workplace into fucking high school.

Some of us barely survived it the first time.