Garrett and I were talking the other day about things that bother us at work. He was telling me that he hates it when, as he's washing his hands, another guy comes in, takes a stall and starts cluster bombing the place. Meanwhile, he's hurriedly washing and drying your hands, trying to get out of there before the bombing raid starts. Inevitably he doesn't make it and is caught in the carnage.
While admittedly annoying, I wouldn't go so far as saying that it's something I hate. At least you're given a fighting chance of getting out of the war zone before the artillery starts to fall. What bothers me more is when you're not even given that chance.
Case in point, last week I went to the men's room to wash my hands after spilling some of my soft drink on them. As soon as I walked in I was assaulted by the fragrance of "eau de fat-guy-from-the-floor-below-us-that-uses-our-bathroom." Well, I figure that I'm already there and I can't unsmell what I just smelled, so I may as well go about my business and finish washing my hands.
Well, half way through my hand washing a couple of guys from another department walk into the same smell I did but then shoot me a look of "Good Lord, what dead animal did you just expel from your body?"
I couldn't say a word. Really, what are you supposed to do? Anything you say is just going to shine a spotlight on your guilt. So I didn't say anything and now there are people out there that think I poop sewer rats covered in week old stewed cabbage, and there's nothing I can do about it.
