Bathroom Adventures

This little doody, er, ditty comes to us from our very own Brandon Pruitt-Dickoff...

Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t hate my office...most of the time. The people are friendly enough. But there comes a point where you just can’t take it anymore, and I think these two incidents really ram that point home. Unfortunately, although I have my suspicions about the responsible parties, the culprits were never found, so these people cannot, and will not, be recurring characters on this blog.

About one year ago, there were some plumbing problems at my office. It appears that someone decided to play a little prank and start flushing paper towels down the toilet. This was causing some problems and some clogged toilets (which perhaps had an impact on story #2). After repeated warnings, paper towels continued to be flushed down the toilet, so a ruling came down from on high that there would no longer be paper towels in the bathroom. Rather, you had three choices: 1) Wash your hands and either air dry or wipe them on your shirt or pants; 2) Fail to wash your hands, and risk a staph infection; or, 3) Visit the front desk where you would be rationed 2 paper towels, with which you would be permitted to wash your hands. Despite the utter ridicluousness of this arrangement, this continued for approximately one month, until our paper towel privileges were restored. Awesome.

After that somewhat mediocre buildup, we move on to story 2. This takes place about seven months ago: the sun is shining, warm weather approaches, and what better way to celebrate than by pooping all over the floor of your office? I can’t think of one. I’m not sure if it is made more gross by the fact that it was the ladies room (say what you want about men’s frequency or odor in the restroom, but at least we put it in the proper place). Thanks to a source, I received an email from HR to all the women in the office which cautioned the ladies that “we have some serious hygeine issues to resolve.” There was a “stall that is completely messed up, a floor that is messy and carpet that is stained.” As far as I can tell, that means this person was tracking poop through the bathroom and into the hallway. And you thought you had it bad when gum gets stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

And no, I do not work in a nursery school.

Welcome to the Jungle

I once heard someone say, “If you meet more than three jerks in one day, you’re one of them.” I wholeheartedly agree. That is, until I go to work. Because for eight interminable hours each day—sometimes more—I am SURROUNDED BY ASSHOLES!

Now, I’m not talking about your average office offenders. Every workplace has its politics, and for the most part, they don’t bother me. What’s a little office gossip at my expense? At least I’m relevant! The inside of my break room microwave looks like a double homicide. No biggie...I’ll just order takeout.

No, my fellow underlings, I’m talking about off-the-charts craziness. Drunken benders (on company dime and time). Egregious invasions of privacy. Flagrant sexual harassment. Nutbag observations. The list goes on. Because I work with wackadoos.

I could fill three blogs with tales about the hellhole I call work, but this blog needs you! So, if you’ve ever watched your boss drink so much eggnog at the Holiday party that he falls down and knocks out a tooth (like I have), this blog is for you. Share your horror with the rest of us drones!

Waxing cubicle,
Barbie & Blanche