The Drinking Fountain Horror
I saw the cover of the local newspaper today, and immediately knew the answer to the question it posed. "Is bottled [water] better?" Yes, my friend, it is. Better at least, than the work drinking fountain. One day, several months ago, my co-workers and I witnessed a horrific event. It occured when the drinking fountain had a clog, though none of us knew it did. It had backed up, without our knowledge, and maintenance came to save the day.
The maintenance man came along, in his one-piece coveralls, with a plunger in-tow. I know you are asking yourself: "A plunger? What is he doing with a plunger?" We are dealing with a drinking fountain here, not a toilet. He did indeed have a plunger, probably used on a toilet once upon another maintenance story. He began to plunge the drinking fountain drain. My co-workers and I watched in horror. I would never use that drinking fountain again. How could I after it had been treated like a toilet? I shudder to think that the plunger had been used before on that very drinking fountain. Just pray that your drinking fountain has not or will not suffer the same fate.
Fried Chicken!!!
Who likes fried chicken? Apparently everyone at my office except me and a few heart-healthy employees. It never fails- everytime we have a work party or potluck, someone orders or brings in the fried chicken. As if sitting at a desk all day long, only getting up to pee or go to the water cooler isn't bad enough, we have to make matters more unhealthy by consuming the worst food for you?
I don't personally eat the fried chicken, but I observe the people who do and it is mind blowing. Like vultures to a carcass, they feast upon the heart-choking food. I thought we lived in a fairly health conscious world- where people at least try (or want to make people think they try) to make improvements. This is blatant clogging of the arteries and a slow killing of oneself. I tried to make peace with the fried chicken extraveganzas by saying "it only happens once in awhile," but it is ordered too frequent for that justification. I just won't lie to myself.
I wish there were something I could do, to stop the fried food frenzy, but there isn't. They won't take contructive criticism seriously. I have tried to get the important decision making people to substitute with grilled chicken breasts, or to simply add a healthy punch by purchasing veggie trays and fruit platters, but they won't listen to me. It would be like asking a smoker to chew gum instead. They are addicted to the grease.
Wet carpet, Slippery floor?
I walked up to the cafeteria this afternoon, only to be suddenly alarmed by a sign that said "Wet Carpet, Slippery Floor." After taking several seconds to take in the information, I realized how silly the danger was and I breathed easy. Usually I pay attention to the signs when they are warning me about impending doom, but I had to laugh to myself. I should be scared of a wet carpet? Is it really going to be slippery? The entire second floor (the floor of the cafeteria) is carpeted, so the sign was notplaced to warn of wet tile. I have never been on wet carpet nor have I known it to be slick. I can't believe my company purchased a sign to warn its employees of this possible hazard. But in all honesty, it makes sense. I work in insurance and it is my company's mission to protect. Plus, we know they don't want a lawsuit from someone who slipped on wet carpet.
And never again will I venture to the cafeteria unless it is for a banana, but even the bananas can be quite scary. I decided to get some soup, thinking turkey lentil sounded good. Its nothing more than left over split pea with turkey bits. It was highly peppered, which leads me to believe the (dare I say) Chef was trying to hide some un-appetizing flavor.
ID Cards- friend or foe?
I understand the use of ID cards and why they are so vital in protecting the security of my building. However, I do not understand this: when I had a letter to mail the other day, I [naively] thought I could go downstairs, out to the mailbox directly outside the front door, and walk back in up to my department. No go. The mailbox is visible from the security desk and any "questionable" behavior would be seen from the security guard's vantage point, yet when I asked if I would need my ID to get back into the building the guard said "yes." I explained I was only walking to the mailbox, and I pointed to physically show how far I was going. The security guard shook her head and made it quite clear I would not be able to get out of the building and expect to get back in, so I had to walk back upstairs to my desk and get my ID. The security guard was very nice though, and said she would walk out there herself but I didn't trust her to mail my letter without reading. How can I when she can't trust me to walk 20 feet?
Work Commute
On my way to work this morning, while standing on the above ground L platform, I noticed a man holding a shiny silver juice bag. I squinted to see if he was holding what I thought he was holding- and he was. It was none other than a Capri Sun. I could not believe I was seeing a grown man sip away at a Capri Sun, while wearing a full business suit and carrying a brief case in the other hand. Now I know Capri Sun has come out with new packaging in order to appeal to ages 16-25, but the Capri Sun this man was holding was a vintage model- the kind I remember drinking in the fifth grade (Tropical Punch was my favorite flavor). My mind flooded with memories of the days when Capri Sun was the coolest juice box you could have, and when you were envied by all the other kids who had regular juice boxes from Minute Maid or Hi-Ci. I also remember it taking a certain talent to poke the straw precisely into the hole on the pouch without creating an explosion of juice. They were a great novelty, and I commend both the people who invented the Capri Sun pouch, and the man this morning who let me relive a joy of my childhood.
Highlighter issues
Dan works in a cube by me, and he doesn't have the best luck. This morning he decided to do some highlighting, but then got distracted and walked around to other cubes, taking care of other tasks- with highlighter in tow. Apparently forgetting that he was carrying an open highlighter, he put the pen in his front shirt pocket. He sat back down at his desk, opened a new highighter and began the original task at hand. Looking down at his work, he couldn't help but notice the mark the open highlighter was making in his front pocket. It had been leaking the whole time. At least we know why some people need pocket protectors now.
