National Overshare at the Office Day
Boundaries are for people who don’t have a story about their rash. Accordingly, we celebrate today those who can’t read the room, the sad souls who treat the office like a confessional booth only with better lighting and coffee. You are the ones who turn “How was your weekend?” into a ten-minute monologue about your ex, your IBS, and the time you cried in a Target parking lot. This is your day–your moment to shine like a cold sore under a black light.
Start small. Mention your sleep paralysis demon during the morning stand-around. Casually reference your third divorce while waiting in line for the printer. Tell the intern about your recurring dream where you’re breastfeeding your boss. Bonus points if your boss is in earshot.
Be sure not to forget the classics:
- “I think my dog is racist.”
- “I’m not allowed back at that Chili’s.”
- “My therapist says I’m not technically a narcissist, but I am a lot.”
Today, HR is just a suggestion; eye contact is optional; and if someone tries to change the subject, double down. Tell them about your foot fungus. Show them the rash. Make a slideshow of it.
In a world of small talk and fake smiles, oversharing is radical honesty. It’s performance art, trauma with a time card.
So go forth. Spill your guts. If you make one coworker reconsider her career choice, you’ve done your job.
