Sunday, March 2, 2014

Begins With P

Daughter: I am only going to tickle people beginning with the letter E!!
Me: Phew!
Son: Penis begins with P!
Daughter: I'm going to tickle....EVERYONE!!!!

This week in work I gave serious consideration to providing a rickshaw service. Reason being that every day when I'm walking around from the coffee machine to my desk I watch droves of people waiting in line to use the elevator. Not the infirm or the grotesquely obese. Just groups of people who can't be arsed to use the stairs. Immediately I pictured groups of cows stood still and slowing chewing cud whilst stood on one of those flat-escalator things they have at airport. I then wondered how popular a rickshaw service would be. Which is basically a stroller/pram for adults. Obviously I couldn't fit a big rickshaw thing inside a building. So a bigger, extra-strength all-terrain stroller should do the trick. I bet it would be a money-earner. A quarter for a trip should tickle people's fancy. I'd even provide a food/drink delivery service on the side.

I want you to look at this toilet.

You see that divide between the two urinals? That's to provide a modicum of privacy between the people stood side-by-side. I suppose it's also to thwart piss-terrorists from suddenly veering sideways unannounced to piss all over their neighbor. Not that I've  ever felt this compulsion. The only moment I can recall any deviation from drilling a steady, golden stream into the urinal cake (I say again - Worst. Cake. Ever.) was the challenge to knob-hose off the woodlice on the wall above the huge urinal in the local pub back home. But that was expected of paying customers, provide as a free game like a more rustic, biological darts competition. I digress though. That little wall between the urinals is supposed to be a border more impenetrable and absolute than Ann Widdicombes knickers. And yet I found myself in work on Friday stood on the one side while a man (barely...) stood on the other - but with his left arm gripped over the divide like a man carrying a surfboard. That's up there with a short list of socially-depraved behavior I've made (cutting a sausage lengthwise instead of width-wise, drinking iced tea or coffee during the Winter months, and using the phrase, "do me a solid") as cast-iron indications that a person is potentially a serial killer. Why would a man stray across the urinal boundaries without any Ted Haggert/George Michael aspirations in mind? It's baffling. I got out of there double-quick, I can tell you. So quick it visibly troubled the man with the stray arm (probably leading him to write a shit blog about his Friday in work where a very poorly-shaven man looked directly at him whilst he urinated, only to inexplicably hurry-off out of the bathroom without so much as engaging in the pretense of washing his hands (no-one actually does - that soap is awful).

Although probably not as much as the dude who caught me taking a photo of the Men's toilets with my camera-phone....

No comments:

Post a Comment