Trust Me, I'm Dr Ozzy (22 page)

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I hate “bear-hugging” other men, even close friends. How do I avoid it without offending anyone?

Rafael, Windsor

You’ve got a mouth, so say something. I know some tough-guy types who think it’s cool to say hello by getting me in a headlock and wrestling me to the ground—a “buddy slam” they call it over here in California. More like a load of macho bollocks, if you ask me. So if they try it, I tell them to fuck off. I mean, if your mates started to say hello by punching you in the face, you’d do something about it, right? So why not just say to them, “Look, I don’t like having my head in your armpit while you whack me on the back like Hulk Hogan, can’t we just shake hands, or wave at each other or something?”

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I’ve suddenly developed a habit of putting my foot in my mouth in the most cringeworthy ways imaginable—like blurting out jokes about fat people in front of overweight friends. What could be causing this sudden outbreak of tactlessness? It’s not booze, because it’s happened as many times sober as it has when I’m drunk.

Fred, Basingstoke

It won’t make you feel any better, but we all drop a clanger every now and again. You can’t beat yourself up about it too much, ’cos life would be pretty boring if we all talked like politicians. And believe me, your fat joke’s nothing compared with the shit I used to say when I was drinking four bottles of cognac a day. One time, I had to call up Brian Wilson from the Beach Boys after a big night out and say I was sorry for telling him I was glad his brother had just died. That was about 20 years ago, and I’m still cringing now.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I’m a happily married man, but I keep getting inappropriate e-mails from a male co-worker. Some are just dirty jokes, but others are graphic fantasies, like how he wants to sodomize me in the handicapped bathroom stall. At first it was funny, but now it’s creepy and I want it to stop. Obviously I don’t want to say anything to the boss.

“Marcus,” California

If someone I knew started sending me e-mails about sticking their one-eyed wonder anywhere near my rear end—joke or otherwise—I wouldn’t be writing to Dr. Ozzy for advice, I’d be using my mouth to tell him to stop giving me the fucking creeps, man. I mean, how about sending this sicko a reply that says,
“Don’t ever e-mail me again
”? If that doesn’t work, confront him in private. Failing that, get yourself a sexual harassment lawyer.

Dear Dr. Ozzy,

I recently took in a lodger, who said he was only going to be staying only a fortnight—but he’s still here, six months later. Worse than that: he coughs all the time. It’s driving me crazy. What can I do to get rid of him, or the cough, or both? Thank you.

Maddy, Cambridge

I’ve never had an annoying lodger, but I did once have a next-door neighbour who played tennis at midnight. It doesn’t sound like much, but believe me, you don’t want to hear
thwock
,
thwack
,
thwock
when you’re trying to get some shut-eye. It was like living on centre court at Wimbledon. In the end, I set up my billion-watt PA system in the garden, and the second I heard him starting to play, I blasted some thrash metal in his direction. That soon put a stop to it. The same thing would solve your lodger problem, I reckon. After a few sessions of “The Best of Goatwhore”—highly recommended, by the way—he’ll be begging to leave. And it’ll drown out his coughing in the meantime.

Dear Dr. Ozzy,

I work at a bank and my boss urinates with the door open. It makes me very uncomfortable. What can I do?

Anonymous

Bakersfield, California

To be fair to your boss, when men get the call of nature, it’s a very powerful urge. Our brains aren’t set up to think about all the other stuff involved, like doors, seat lids . . or if the wall we’re about to use is part of an important historic monument like the Alamo (I had no idea). Personally, I’m impressed the guy’s even making it to the bathroom. If I was stuck in a bank all day, I’d get so fucking bored, I’d be pissing out of the window, trying to hit people standing at the cash machine outside. So I really think you should give the guy a break. Better yet, next time he empties his bladder in full view of his staff, get your colleagues to give him a round of applause and a score out of ten.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

My best friend is being bullied, and he’s now very depressed—he hasn’t been at school for the past two weeks. I wish I could help, but we’re in different grades (if don’t see the bullying taking place, I can’t tell a teacher). What should I do?

David, Boston

Tell his parents. You
must
tell his parents. Bullying is a terrible thing, and has fucked up a lot of people’s lives. It’s all very well to say people should just put up with it—or that it makes you stronger—if it ain’t
your
head being flushed down the toilet on a daily basis. My bet is that if you tell this kid’s folks, they’ll be round the school in no time to sort it out. Do it now before it goes too far and something tragic happens, or you’ll never forgive yourself.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

My friends tell me I’m incredibly tight-fisted. Personally, I don’t think this is fair: I just like to keep track of my spending and try to avoid throwing my heard-earned cash away. Should I listen to them? Should these people even really
be
my friends?

Jaycee, Surrey

There’s a world of difference between “careful” and “tight as a duck’s arse.” I remember when I used to own a wine bar and restaurant—“Osbourne’s” in Newport, Shropshire—there was a bloke who was so cheap, he’d come in and count his fucking peas. Literally. He’d tap me on the shoulder and go, “How come I got seven peas and my wife got twelve?” Then there’s the kind of tightwad who claims to be on a diet when it comes to ordering food, but then scavenges from everyone else’s plates. The “See Food” diet, as I always call it. But anyway, back to your question: the fact is, if your friends are saying they’re offended by your behaviour, chances are you’re tighter than Elvis Presley’s spandex. So it can’t hurt to dig deep for a while, just to prove ’em wrong.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

Help! I just sent a long and emotional e-mail about how much I hate my job to my best friend in Sweden, only I accidentally (don’t ask how) copied my boss. What should I do?

Margaret, New York

Start looking for a new job.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I know you’re supposed to make eye contact when talking to new people, but how far do you take it—the occasional glance (if so, how many seconds?) or a continuous full-lock?

Ken, Woking

It ain’t a full-lock and it ain’t a glance—it’s something in-between. But it’s very important to get it right, ’cos it’s not comfortable being around people who can’t look you in the eye when they’re having a conversation. They seem dodgy. Whatever you do, though, don’t
stare—
if your eyes are bugging out like you’re some kind of nutter, that ain’t cool. To me, it’s all about giving off a warm vibe; making others feel at ease. Maybe if you stop counting how many seconds there are between every blink, it’ll come naturally.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

My colleague (the next cubicle over) has terrible body odour. How can I break the news to him gently—or is there a way of dealing with the smell without having to confront him?

Marie, Stoke on Trent

Fuck I take a shower ever day, so it pisses me off when other people don’t give their friends and colleagues the same courtesy. Unfortunately, though, there’s no painless answer to your problem. You could move cubicles, I suppose. Or put an anonymous gift of deodorant on his desk. But the best solution is to confront him—in a nice way. Say, “Next time you’re in the bath, why don’t you try turning on the taps?”

Dear Dr. Ozzy,

Excuse my French, but my boss is an arsehole. His idea of management is to boast about every pathetic little thing he does while belittling everyone else’s achievements. How can I get him to change his ways?

Sarah, Stoke

Why not get together with your colleagues who feel the same way and have an intervention? Or, if it’s a bigger company, complain to human resources (or whatever they call it). Failing that, leave. That’s what I used to do when I hated a job. Either that, or I behaved so badly—like stealing cows’ eyeballs from the slaughterhouse where I worked and putting them in girls’ drinks at the pub across the road—they kicked me out. Jobs are harder to find these days, of course, so that might not be a good idea. Unfortunately, that also makes idiots like your boss think they’re God.

Try not to give him the pleasure.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

A friend of mine visited my house the other day when I was recovering from a case of winter sniffles. When he came down with his own cold a few days after, he sent me an angry e-mail telling me that I should have warned him I had germs. Is this fair?

Neil, Stevenage

No. How does this guy know where he got the cold from, anyway? And even if you
did
give it to him, what’s everyone supposed to do, walk around in germ-sealed plastic bags wearing face masks and rubber gloves all the time? Give me a break.

Dear Ozzy:

I play football after work with my colleagues, and last week my boss broke my ankle with a dirty tackle. I’m furious with him, and want revenge—but I don’t want to get fired. Any ideas?

Guglielmo, Rome

Two words, Guglielmo: shit happens. If you’re gonna kick a ball around, you’ve got to accept that some people’s personalities change beyond recognition when scoring goals is involved. I learned that lesson years ago, when I played on my local pub team every Sunday morning. Well, I say “played,” but it was really just an excuse to air my brain out after the night before. I soon realised that the blokes who were perfectly normal and friendly while having a few beers turned into wild fucking animals on the field. I mean, they just forgot who they were, to the point where they lost all self-respect… then five minutes later they were back down the pub, as nice as you like again. So you should forget about revenge, ’cos you can’t live your life trying get back at people for things you should have seen coming in the first place. Stop playing if it really bothers you. Otherwise get back on the field and try to run a bit faster next time.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

My neighbour plays his Elton John record collection at full-blast every Sunday morning—the one day of the week when I get to sleep in. No offense to Sir Elton (I know he’s a friend of yours) but what can I do to banish “Rocket Man” from my life for good?

Adriana, Bergamo, Italy

Ask him nicely to turn it down, and if that doesn’t work, buy some earplugs—unless you want to start a feud. Also, let’s face it: the situation could be worse. He could be playing Justin Bieber.

DR. OZZY’S INCREDIBLY HELPFUL TIPS—

Your Boss Is an Arsehole If…

He makes himself Employee of the Month. Every month.

He docks your salary for the day you take off to go to your mum’s funeral.

He uses the stopwatch on his iPhone to time your toilet breaks.