The Boogie Man

It appears that we have a “Toilet Nazi” here at work. Allow me to explain. For a while now, whenever you walked into the men’s bathroom, at the urinal, there at face level, someone had decided to leave a little gift behind. Someone apparently has decided that while he stands there and pisses, it is appropriate to pick his nose and wipe the bugers on the wall for everyone to see. I am not talking one or two klingons; there are a multitude of these bugers there, on the wall over both urinals, in each men’s room in the building. I guess this guy has a nasal problem or something. Someone needs to turn him on to some Claritin or something to clear him up. It isn’t the most pleasant site, but hey, you’re in there to piss and by rule you try not to touch anything in there beside yourself. I guess someone has had it with the bugers. Today in each men’s room, above every urinal was a florescent green sign that read “To whom it may concern, this is not a pretty site. What you do at home is your business but here it is unacceptable, please refrain from putting your boogies on the wall, Management”. I don’t know which was worse, the fact that someone left their dry snot on the wall or the ridiculous attempt at a warning. It was hilarious. Someone actually took the time to select the appropriate paper and hand write all of these messages. Someone has way too much time on his or her hands. I explained the signs to some of the ladies in our department, and they had their own Bathroom Nazi story to share. A week back similar florescent signs appeared in all the lady’s room throughout the building. I guess some one was flushing an unauthorized item on a monthly basis. The girl’s sign reminded them that things of that nature were not appropriate to flush and also reminded them that plastic bags were provided to them for the deposit of the unauthorized item (for those dense folk out there or, guys, the sign was referring to chicks flushing their pads). Once again, their version of the sign was from “Management”. We all got a great laugh from it, but it then dawned on us, someone is patrolling our restrooms. The potty police if you will. Is it one person? Or is there this team of super heroes out for true, justice and the functionality and good will of our shitters? Is the fluorescent color their trademark? How does one get a job as a potty police officer in this building? Must you stand in front of a committee and take an oath that no urinal will go untouched? It went from hilarious, to bizarre, to scary in a matter of minutes.

In other news, there is Mucho Drama going on. The proverbial shit is about to hit the fan. I fear that it is immanent. I received a call from my dear friend “K”. We shot the shit and BLAH, BLAH, BLAH (I really am quite impressed with K. After our hot and sweaty sexcaspade I thought I might have a problem, her being much younger and all. But since that night, it has been things as usual). K asked me what my plans were this weekend. I explained to her that tonight I was going out with the chick from work. There was silence on the other end of the phone. “Hello”, I asked. She was there and although she claimed nothing was wrong, I knew better. This was K. We have been close friends for years. I know her like a book and visa versa. She was pissed. I should have never mentioned the chick from work. But I have never lied to K. I have always told her everything. Since our conversation I have had calls from several of our mutual friends. Bottom line, K is not happy. She knows that she has no right to feel the way she does, but never the less a pissed off chick is a pissed off chick. What do I think? I think She’ll have to deal with it, get over it. Since I am a betting man, I am willing to wager that tonight while I am out with big titties, I will run into K. Can anyone say chick fight? That would not be pretty. See you later.