UnRestroom

The continuing story of dysfunctional bathroom habits continues here at work. I don't get it, but it backs up my theory that success can be determined by proper potty training.

So, I'm in the bathroom urinating for the 27th time in the day from drinking massive water based mammal amounts of water. It's downstairs so I get my stairs in during the day even without the gym. Plus, I think the tough love is helping my foot heal. It felt like I caught it in a bear trap for a while. I was gimpy.

So, I look to my left because, seriously, my penis has been played out since college, and I see a newspaper laid out on the floor. It's a San Jose Mercury which I wouldn't line a litter box with if I was unfortunate enough to need to fill a gaping hole in my life with a creature that sucks my breath out of me while I sleep. I mean, if anything, a monkey or a killer whale, right?

I see something weird at this point and it's a dude's clenched fist on the floor and I'm thinking dude, that's a rough one, maybe you should go to the doctor. Then, I see his other fist clenched on the other side and his face like two inches from the page. In my mind, I'm going through all of the different positions that could possibly be going on in that stall like a porn movie choreographer in pre-production.

I mean, seriously, it's gross enough to use the bathrooms at work, anyway, but then add placing your hands on the disgusting tile and you've reached the pinnacle of disease and whatnot. Then, the face two inches from the floor is probably going to get you a staph infection.

It's the fucking basics of etiquette and co-existing with your fellow society members. Yeah, nobody likes to talk about going to the bathroom, but it's a pretty basic task and everyone does it. An outhouse in the middle of Lake Don Pedro can add some complexity, but with slight adjustments it can be done and yes, it's fucking necessary sometimes.

Anyway, just reporting back some of the fucked up shit that I have to deal with on a daily basis. I find it really unnecessary and wish some of these people could step it up a bit so I could have some "colleagues." I'm really missing my desk and "colleagues" at Arthur Andersen about now. In a parallel universe, I'd imagine, I'm really happy with a trophy wife that feigns love for me. Instead, I've got this fucking path written all over my face, staring at me in the mirror while I try to figure out if the eye twitch is from stress, disappointment or exhaustion. The hair looks good, though. Maybe I'm bald in the parallel universe. That could be the trade-off and one worth considering the value of. Hmmmm? Good hair or good life.

That's right, ladies. Still single.

Real conversation from this morning:
Co-Worker: "Hey, you know those creamer cups are recyclable."

Me: "Yep, but I don't really give a fuck. I'll watch you pull them out of the trash like an eco-hobo, though to support an eternal life and making the world last forever."

HughVoltage does not and will not play well with others before his first cup of coffee.