It's nothing dreadful. But since people have this tendency to straighten up when they see a walker coming their direction, it's difficult to call people on it when they're being twits on the job. I can't be everywhere, and I mostly have to stay at my desk because I'm actually doing real work there, but sending little messages to people is at least an attempt at letting them know they need to knock it the hell off.
Not that I tell them "knock it the hell off", exactly, but it's these stiffly-worded little messages that convey that general impression in the most polite and professional of manners. ...Anonymously, even.
I'm not sure whether I actually care about the job or whether I'm pretending I do and just going there to pull a paycheck. Either way, in my twistily insane head, pretending I care involves creating a persona who cares. Today started off badly, because I didn't have the seating chart, just the list of booth assignments in alphabetical order by phone goon. I cannot seat extras like that, and I had a small mob's worth, and I was in pain from hip, arm, and tongue. (Respectively, sleeping on wrong, wrenching, and too-hot pot roast.)
I'd like to banish about half my co-workers to a place where I'd never have to deal with them again, and hide in a corner with a book at a party consisting of the rest of them. When Zapping Gum Super has a problem with a phone goon, it's become a serious issue. Zapping Gum Super gets along with everybody, even Scary Old Lady Phone Goon. But the One-Man Bald Nudity Crusade is too much for everybody, especially when he insists on blaming our computer system for clear ID-ten-T errors.