Shit. Dogs were commonplace in my old shop. Drove me up the fucking wall. Every. Fucking. Time. Hell, we had a weekend obit writer who smelled lke a dog. She worked part time at a fucking pet grooming joint. Smelled up the whole fucking place on the weekends. The editors had someone talk to her about it. I'd even hold my breath 10 feet before and after passing her desk. I still get the dry heaves ... just thinking about it.
You want to see a fucking hostile newsroom, there Lens Boy? I'll show you a fucking hostile work environment. Pretty soon, I'll drop a fucking deuce on the floor like that motherfucking mangy mutt you always bring in here. Don't act like your fucking shit don't stink. I hear curse words coming out of your shit-for-brains mouth all the fucking time. So touch up your fucking masterpieces, shut your fucking mouth and learn how to fucking spell names correctly on those motherfucking cutlines you always butchering. Capiche?
Me neither. Never. I was known for it at my last shop. I never roared with the profanity, but didn't keep it to myself, either. Like Shot, I don't want to be in some parallel universe where profanity is prohibited in the newsroom.
Actually, I think I've invented profanity in the mission to get out established profanity. "Tony Stewart ... what a God damn fuck- ... fuck- ... fuckfatty bastard!"
Funny this should come up now. In my newsroom, not only is cursing not OK, any sort of loudness is not allowed. Last week, all four of the sports people were told by the EIC that we had gotten so out of hand that some of the news reporters wouldn't come into the office at night on our account. I guess they complained it was a little too distracting. We were all threatened with being suspended for a day without pay if there were any further problems.
If that's happening on a consistent basis over nothing of substance, I could see the argument. But somehow, given the impression you've given us, Smallpotatoes, I suspect the newsside is being a little too touchy.
The best newsroom I ever worked in had plenty of outrage, faulty equipment, and the tantrums associated. Ceramic paperweights were sometimes casualties too, or at least the end result of one of the best rants I bore witness to. Same could be said for other antiquated artifacts that were still in use.
No, I really felt like keeping my job, now that Massachusetts requires everyone to have health insurance and all that.