Once again, I got into work late, again. Partly due to fault of my own; partly due to inexplicable and uncomprehensible traffic. Seriously. It was like, for the 35 minutes I was on the road (to travel a wee eight-plus miles from my domicile to my place du travail) every living sad-ass driver was on the go.
But that's the least of my worries.
Or the worst of my worries; I've yet to decide.
Nonetheless, I've made it to work and everything's keen. Until after I've pulled round the entrance-way and I'm making my way up to the employee parking area. Apparently, today, the 'employee' parking area isn't so open to allowing the 'employees' to park. Yes, I understand that today is the "CIO Workshop" ... but, whatever a "CIO" might be, did we need to invite each and every one of them !? From every state in the entire United States of America? Apparently, we did. And here they are. Taking up even the most precious 'late comer' spots in the lot. Curse them!
So, that's settled. I've managed to find a pretty sweet spot in the farthest reaches of the parking lot, right next to a stairwell that leads to the farthest end of the Swan Pond... right around North Dakota, I'd say.
Don't be! or, at least, let me explain. There is a man-made pond (two, actually) on the grounds of my office building. Enjoyable. I'll continue.
These ponds support resident swans... real, live swans which live in this pond year-round. It's amazing in mid-January or February when it's cold as a witch's tit and these swans are just floatin' about... heads tucked in below a wing. And you're dyin' just gettin' to your car! Fuckin' Cold!!! There they are. Floatin' around.. taunting humans.
"Screw you sans-downy beasts! I've the hide to keep alive!" is what you imagine hearing them screaming from the pond on your way out. Yet, they're really more freezin' to fuck, as if they had a choice. They don't move. Still floatin' and still alive come spring, though. Friggin' swans. Tough bastards, them. Swans.
So, in this particular pond here's what's going on - "Two 'parent' swans teaching six or seven 'baby' swans how to survive in the dangerous confines of a man-made pond with a feeder machine easily accessible to most floating fowl." Nature at its finest. But I love the swans. Don't get me wrong... them little cygnets is somethin' to see. Love 'em. Then, they all disappear once they're older (about six weeks?) and it's looking to next June. For the next cygnet batch. It's science.
The above quote (in addition to everything written here, i'm talking about the stuff that's actually in " - quotes - ") was provided by me, earlier, while thinking amongst myself and is, therefore, thoroughly copywrighted. Or so you better believe it is.
Strangely enough, or maybe just an ironic coincidence (if such a thing exists...), the man-made pond all this fowl thrives upon is made out in the shape of The United States of America. Refer, please, to the Norh Dakota reference above, if you will.
So there's my just getting into work, today. Brilliant. I've made it. Fuck the swans - today, i'm concerned about the penguins! And before you question - I do noe want to get into that, about the swans. Feedin' and that. Fuckin' NGEO channel's for that. Penguins is universal. Penguins... Weasels... you know whom I'm talking about.
It's about mid-day and I'm heading up the hall for a squirt. Same Men's Room I visit once or twice a day... and Holy Mackerel !! What in the fuck has happened here?! Definitely more a question and then - an exclamation. Well documented something.
It's been one of those days where you're left amazed at the undeniable and non-defensable attack on civil and cordial etiquite. Then there's the question... 'What about the toilet?'
Thus, it is told.
And here I lay out the fetid story of the ravaged Men's Rooom.
It was one of the men's rooms that I'd come to enjoy. And I found I had developed a deep discouragement as it became increasingly maligned. Mistreated by guests that were oblivious to their impact on the space, the toilet stall was now a liquified, desolate, place to be.
As difficult a topic as this is, the main point is that these pigs.... these 'men in suits' - and I don't mean the single quotes as a joke.. it's to identify who i'm referring to - are PIGS! Remember, the place is loaded with people 'dressed to the nines'... in suits; ties; pressed pants; the trappings of well-heeled business folk...
I went to check into a stall and there was piss all over the seat. The ceramic part of the seat! Who the F is pissing all over the toilet seat ??!! In a sit-down, practically shyte-only, stall? I know who it is. It's Mr. Genius SmartyPants, the guy who's shown up in a Suit today. Good for you! As if that suit is going to convince me that you're smarter than you really are. Truth be told, you can't even control your own dick when it comes to pissin' !! The fucking toilet is a mess. You've created a health hazard.
You. All of you fucking monkey-suit wearing pricks... Get the F out !!
You don't wash your hands in the bathroom.
You don't care about the people you're meeting with.
Go Fuck Yourself... Please!
Jeez, this seems fairly harsh, looking at it... Maybe they're all right.
Nah. 'Twas one of the most disgusting diplays I've ever witnessed.
Fucking suits... means pissing all over the place and someone else'll clean it all up when you're gone.
Never mind the sinks - where it's as if they're trying to baptize cats! There's enough residual water to supply a small nation, the water spilled upon the surface of the sinks. What are these people doing? How does that much sludge and water find its way to the tableop?
Wash your f-ing hands and keep the tidal wave to yourself! For fuck's sake.... I can't imagine what goes on to get that much water all over the place ??? Seriously, what the F are you doing, that that much water ends up on the outside of the sink?