I work in a really small office, and most of the others are guys. This means I mostly have the women’s bathroom to myself. It’s a nice bathroom too, with marble walls and floors and those fancy sinks that sit above the bench. Anyway, I realised today I might be a LITTLE too comfy with my private bathroom. Inasmuch as I’m pretty much treating it as I do my bathroom at home. Today I didn’t even bother shutting the cubicle door. Likelihood of someone walking in? Close to zero. Although we have a new receptionist starting this week, and she’s a girl, so I may have to stop unbuttoning my pants as I walk towards the facilities. Spoilsport.
Luckily for you there are no photos of the bathroom, but only because I can’t find my camera battery charger. Annoying. I couldn’t even take a photo of the cling-film wrapped cars outside my work on April Fools’ Day. And in fact they were still there today, leading me to believe that under the cling-wrap may be a copious collection of parking tickets. The parking inspectors are like raptors where I work – constantly circling then swooping in to pounce on anyone who has been there for exactly 7 seconds past the allotted hour. The pickings are rich, too; office buildings plus shopping strip plus residential houses with no off-street parking equals DELICIOUS PARKING CARRION. I feel like I should work roadkill in here somewhere too, but I can’t think how. It will come to me.