Why do mature adults working in a secure office building find it necessary to pee on the seat? And not wipe it up?
One of life’s many mysteries. Like “Why don’t men ask for directions?”
So last night I went for a few drinks with a gang of people from my old workplace to celebrate a friend’s last day at work. They cheers-ed him, they gave him a nice gift, they gave him a t-shirt of fond memories….
Hmmm. When I left, I got a kick in the butt and a bill for $500 to repay a course I took. And I was there 5 years!
OK, ok, so I left to go to a competing agency, but really? Really? Does this really mean that we have to act like we are in grade school? At least in grade school I didn’t sit in pee on the toilet.
At least, I don’t think I did.
Anyhow, I’m a packing maniac right now, trying to fit my one-bedroom apartment into 18” X 18” boxes. You know when you pack, you start to find stuff you’ve never used…and it’s all dusty and shit? And then, you bring it out to try and decide if you want it, bringing all the dust out with it? And then you put it down while you think, and it ends up in a pile of other “I’m thinking” items – which have also collected years of dust – for a few days?
And then all the dust overtakes your apartment and you're all like "What the fuck do I care about the dust - I'll clean it when everything gets moved out!" And in the meantime you are trying to live in this mess, so it’s messier because there is crap all over the place?
With a dog?
Yeah, so my itty-bitty apartment is a freaking DISASTER zone. And I get a call today from the manager of the place saying they want to show it tomorrow.
Me: “Uhm, the place is a mess. And I’m leaving in 2 weeks. Can’t you wait till I’m gone?”
Them: “Well, no worries! We’ll just tell them that you are moving. They won’t mind the mess.”
Me (in my head): “Holy shit! I have to do the dishes and clean the toothpaste marks off the sink and make my bed and hide all this SHIT THAT I AM PACKING!”
Me (out loud): “Uhm, I don’t think it is right, to be honest. I mean, the place is a TOTAL DISASTER. There is packing stuff ALL OVER THE PLACE, so I’m not really comfortable with this...”
Them: “Well, I’ve got a master key, so…”
Me: “So...?”
Them: “We’ll be there between 12 and 1. And not to worry, we’ll just take a quick peek.”
Uhm. Excuse me….What just happened there?
And while I’d love to be all “Dudes, I’m gonna leave this as is,” let’s be serious. I’m petrified they will come in, see the state the apartment is in, and call the cops. Why? Because I’m a moron.
So, after the going-away party my fellow apartment-dwellers are throwing for me tonight, I’m going to go home, pour myself a huge glass of rum, add a splash of Diet Coke, FREAK OUT and try to get the place as clean as I can. With said boxes and crap all around.
Anyone have any Valium?
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