2001-04-13

BM tawk

With all the stress in my life right now as regards my work environment, I have to ask myself if, and how, things would be better were I not an underpaid member of an understaffed department of an under-rated theatre company. Perhaps I'd be paid more. Perhaps ridiculous paperwork would never see my desk. Perhaps I wouldn't feel so gronky on Mondays and perhaps my whiskey intake would be far less conspicuous.

But the big question is: if I had another job, would I be able to discuss bowel movements with my coworkers?

Yesterday on the way out the door, "Irene" jabbed me on the shoulder and hissed, "Lees, didja notice ah bought air fresheners for the restrooms?"

("Irene" -- not her real name -- is the leggy blonde Texan import who is, quite possibly, the single best storyteller since Aesop. Regular readers of my diary are familiar with her tales, which I've jotted down here when I can't think of anything interesting to say on my own. I find it odd that I get the most "fan mail" after posting an "Irene" story. Anyway...)

"I did, " I replied, "But you also made it abundantly clear that you were going to get some the other day." She'd stood over my desk with a pinched expression, and declared, "Ah am goin' over to that hardware store raht now an' buyin' some air fresheners for those goddamn restrooms!!!"

The reader should take note that Irene and I work in the basement. In order to get to the main administrative offices, and to the reception area, one must go by the two tiny one-seaters that serve as the restrooms for the entire administrative area. As we're in the basement, air circulation is sub-par at best, and with two or three Indian restaurants in the immediate vicinity of the building, well, you get the idea.

I applauded Irene's effort. She went out and bought the best air freshener to be had -- big, stompin' industrial cans of Ozium "glycolized air sanitizer."

"Really an' truly," Irene continued as we headed out the door towards the subway, "If you're gonna take a huge dump, leave the fan on, you know? How does it look when agents an' actors have to come through here an' the place smells like cah-ray-up?!"

"We should make signs for the doors that read: 'For the health and sanity of your fellow workers, if you're gonna pinch a loaf, light a frickin' match.'"

At this point, Irene and I were howling all the way down Massachusetts Avenue, Irene half-shrieking, in between gasps, "Ah don't who it was the other day, but ah was cryin', ah was laughin' so hard...somebody in there flushed three times! THREE times!"

"Ah, yes, the 'triple flusher.'"

And so it went, all the way home.

Would things be better if I had another job? Hard to say.

lisamcc at 8:47 a.m.

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