Mark Kalar: My desk was right next to the coat closet, so I got to go through the obligatory meaningless greetings with everyone in the office. When this guy put his coat up, I'd pretend I was so interested in my work I couldn't tear my eyes off the computer screen. He's one of those people that doesn't understand when a conversation is over, and assumes every polite inquiry is an invitation to have an hour long conversation. I'd ask: "how was vacation". I'm looking for: "great, it was relaxing". Instead, he pulls up a chair. "Well, it all started with the drive to the airport". They took a taxi! Imagine! And it went on from there... When the Iraq invasion started, I'd get play by play from him every morning like it was a slow-mo football game. "Yup, they're moving in on Fallujah, boy, I bet they'll be in Baghdad by the end of the week." Plus then I got to hear all about his extensive house remodeling, his marriage plans, retirement investment ideas, and my favorite, how his recent membership in a gun club was going to lead to all sorts of new networking opportunities which were going to lead to a huge client base and he'd be running our architectural firm in a matter of months.

Stephen McClurg: One guy I worked with smelled like fish tacos. Other than that, he wasn't too objectionable. As far as personality goes, working with someone who is completely vague about what is supposed to be happening is extremely annoying. Especially when he knows what he wants done, but only asks for suggestions in order to turn them down and then astonish those present with his far superior insight-- an insight that, of course, absolutely makes better sense in light of the preestablished plan in his head.

Keith Pille: Crazy Brown, the self-described fastest painter in the West (he really did describe himself thus). He was sloppy-- the dorm rooms of Dana College are probably still spattered with paint. He was incompetent-- it's strongly believed that he burned down a historic building while being careless with a mop and an electrical outlet. He was a racist cock-- his favorite story to tell was about the day Martin Luther King, Jr., died, when he single-handedly stopped the black students at his high school from lowering the flag to half-mast.

I went to high school with his daughter, and she seemed pretty skanky. But it's safe to say that she was cooler than her father.

Don Pizarro: When I worked direct care in a residential treatment unit for teen girls, I carefully and painstakingly cultivated a reputation for having very strong and clear boundaries with the clients.  Someone said I was the only male direct care worker who was never accused of sexual harassment.  Well, this idiot comes along who was my Mirror Universe opposite.  Hugs, stares, suggestive comments--I don't think he ever crossed the line, but he danced within a micrometer of it every day.  He wanted to be the clients' "friend."  Of course, it turned out the only way it could.  If memory serves, one time he pissed his "friends" off, and all of a sudden he made them feel "uncomfortable."

Simon Riordan: I had just graduated from college and decided "Plan A" was not for me.  I moved home and soon landed a lucrative "Labor" position at a local contractor.  Working in the construction industry lends itself to idiocy and ignorance, and my experience was no exception.  "Objectionable co-worker" and "employee" went hand-in-hand at this place.  I'd like to highlight the racist and bigoted commentary I experienced:

- A young Plumber Apprentice described his latest trip to a strip club in the Cities, he especially liked the "gook chick who could do amazing shit."

- A foreman who asked what kind of music I liked.  I responded that I liked Funk, Soul and Hip Hop.  He asked if that was Grand Funk Railroad.  Struggling to think of a commonality, I mentioned James Brown and Stevie Wonder.  His response was simply, "Oh, nigger music."

- A young man who I was working with kept talking about niggers.  I asked him to stop using that word.  He told me it was OK because he had a friend who was a nigger and he always used that word.

I realized that racism is far from dead in this country - it still makes me sad when I think about it.

Jonathan Shipley: My first thought is of my current co-worker who has a proverbial cough, by cough I mean violent facial eruptions when things spew. It happens a few times a day. She's not sick. She just coughs a lot. She doesn't smoke either. She just likes to be disgusting.

Amethyst Vineyard: I once worked at a home-decor store with a young man who thought it amusing to follow me around talking about how much he wanted to join the Air Force while I did actual work. It could last for hours. There I'd be, fluffing bathmats and heaving giant bed-in-bags onto high shelving, tearing every muscle in my rotator cuff as I went, and just behind me and to the left is a bullet-headed moron who can't score high enough on his ASFAB to fly an almost-fully-automated plane to his own doom. Oh, how I prayed for the day when he would.

Clint Weathers: Claude the Prep Cook is my pick.  He was a nice enough guy, but not the sharpest knife in the rack.  We sent him out for a 12-pack of Amstel Light one night while we were all cooking on the line.  He called an hour later to tell us they had no Hamster Light.  We reminded him we wanted Amstel Light.  He then called back a half hour later to tell us they had no 12-packs.  We told him to bring us two six-packs instead.

Grant Weeks: D.S., the Megadeath and mullet-rocking Satanist, at the Dairy Queen in Blair Nebraska circa 1992-1993.  He thought it was hilarious to stick a pair of tongs into the hot grease we used for cooking up the fried chicken, and then place the tongs on an unexpected person.  "You've been burned pussy," he'd say.  I'd use his full name but I fear he would read this, hunt me down, get me with the tongs and call me a pussy.