best left to professionals
February 2, 2011
I am 45 years old. I have 3 kids. I have a real job.
And yet, I cannot resist telling you this little story about what happened in the bathroom at work yesterday. Kim, just skip this one. I apologize. At least there are no pictures.
A co-worker, one with a V and a P in his title (so it’s not just me, right?), came by mid afternoon and said “I’m going to to need your assistance in the back office for a minute.”
I shook him off. I’m all about automatic light switches and the awkward social dynamics at work during the public execution of private bodily functions. But generally, I try not to be about the physical evidence of those functions. At least not in this space.
But V and P persisted, and I accompanied him to the back office.
Small digression—I keep a file in my Gmail Drafts folder called “Blog topics I can’t write about.” The most recent entry was this one.
Here is the entry in the file:
today someone dropped a “tennis shoe” in the toilet that is so big, when you flush, it doesn’t even move. the water moves. the water in nearby toilets moves. the water in the women’s toilet moves (i’m told), but this behemoth does not move. i proposed we all start dropping dollar bills on the table until someone finally says "okay, i’ll take a crack at plunging the leviathan for that kind of money." so far nothing. i imagine it would be like the titanic breaking up. i also proposed that we simply walk the office until we saw a trail of blood or heard quiet weeping, since both were sure results of this kind of effort. so far nothing. it seems this is the kind of challenge best left to professionals.
So there you go. Please return to your regularly scheduled programming.