I Think I'm Going to Be Ill

On the best days, working in an office is a trial. Then, you add in things like Mondays. Toss in horrible personal hygiene of co-workers. Throw in the noise associated with open office plans (i.e., "cube farms"). Take it all together and add in other annoyances and it's really a wonder that "going postal" isn't a daily occurrence.

Now, I like to think I'm fairly tolerant. I may bitch about things (a lot), but, I mostly put up with it. Then again, as a wage-slave, "what are ya gonna do". I also like to think that I'm fairly hard to shock or even surprise. Still, the personal habits of co-workers is always a source of amazement and, all-to-frequently, disgust.

Today is a perfect case in point. After my morning caffeine-infusion, I had to go use the bathroom. Mtn. Dew is great for waking you up, but it runs through you faster than an equivalent volume of beer does. My first trip to the bathroom, I was met with what would (mildly) be called and "unpleasant aroma". However, I was able to at least get in, get my business done, wash up and get out. Unfortunately, the quantity of this morning's Mtn. Dew was such that I needed to hit up the facilities again around an hour later.

This time, the lone urinal was in use. So, I had to resort to the sit-down stalls. I saw feet under the door of the first stall. I figured that accounted for the increase in the lovely aroma. That is, until I got to the other available stall. As I approached and was about to work my fly, I noticed a fecal stalactite hanging from the bowl of the toilet.

Disgusted, I thought to myself, "I'll hit one of the other bathrooms". So, I went upstairs to use that one. Unfortunately, I got there and the smell was even worse than the bathroom on my cube's floor. Again, feet visible under the door of one of the stalls, lone urinal in use. So, again, I sought out the remaining sit-down stall.

Whut-the-fuck: "Shit soup". Whoever'd made that mess couldn't be bothered to flush. Either that, they were in such a panic from what had just come out of them that they'd simply bolted and left it to brew.

So, I headed to the basement to find urinary refuge, there. Fortunately, that was clean. I can only guess that the authors of the prior fecal-crimes had yet to find that particular outlet on their rounds.

Note that I say "authors". As I said on Twitter, "I refuse to believe this morning's restroom atrocities were the work of a single, prolific author. Must have been a foreign foods fest in DC." However, in retrospect, I don't know which prospect is worse: that there's one person responsible for the multiple, heinous acts (and probably still skulking about, readying another "gift") or that more than one person could be that foul. Ugh.