Your Own Private Cell Phone Booth

Do you use your cell phone while using the restroom at work?

To my surprise, people really do this. I walked into the ladies' room at work the other day and heard a woman talking loudly on her cell phone in one of the stalls. What was she thinking? Or should I say, what was the person on the other end of line thinking when she heard toilets flushing? I don't even want to think about what else the woman was doing while she conversed on the phone. Talk about multi-tasking!

When I got back to my desk, I mentioned it to one of my female coworkers.

Me: Do you ever hear woman talking on the cell phone in the bathroom here at work?


Her: Oh yeah, people do it all the time.

I turned to my male coworker who overheard our conversation.

Me: Do men use their cell phones in the bathroom at work?

Him: (Nodding)

Me: At the urinal?!!

Him: ( Nodding again)

Well, I couldn't help but ask the same question of my pal Andy Davidson who works at another company.

Me: Andy, do guys use their cell phones in the bathroom at work?

Him: Oh, yeah.

Me: While they're using the urinal?

Him: Well, most of them use head sets because it's hard to zip up your pants when you're holding a cell phone.

To all of you who are guilty of this indiscretion, I hope the Toilet Patrol catch you or you drop your cell phone into the toilet/urinal after you've done your business!

Goose Poop

The company I currently work for has a lake and a fountain on its grounds. It would be a pleasant place to have lunch or take a break...except for the Canada geese that hang out there and leave a trail of poop on the sidewalks.

When employees arrive at work on Monday morning, they are greeted by geese that spent the weekend covering the parking lot and back entrance to the building with piles of droppings. Employees are forced to navigate through the droppings and the geese that block their way into the building. (Sorry I'm late, boss. I had to scrape goose crap off the bottoms of my shoes.)

This same area is frequented by smokers at various times of the day. Apparently, they don't mind being surrounded by poop and the geese that continuously produce it. You would think that sharing the smoking area with a bunch of raucous geese would be an incentive to stop smoking (or to go sit in and stink up their own cars, for God's sake.)

When I leave the building to go out to lunch, I have to fight my way between smokers and crowds of geese while weaving through the ever increasing supply of poop. Finally, the groundskeepers come out and hose down the area amid a cacophony of honking geese fleeing from the scene. Later, the geese and smokers return to foul the ground and the air around them.

I think the groundskeepers would be more successful if they hosed down the smokers along with the geese.

Hand Washing Police

One of the things I don't like about working in an office is the lack of privacy.

You can't even go to the bathroom without being watched. It's bad enough having to share a toilet with other employees, even if they are women. It's altogether another thing to be lectured about personal hygiene.

An anonymous self-proclaimed protector of public hygiene and member of the Hand Washing Police, aka Toilet Patrol, who had seen women leaving the restroom without washing their hands posted a notice inside the restroom door:
"Wash Your Hands After Using the Restroom. Thoroughly rinse your hands with running water for 20 seconds."

Okay, I don't want some slob with hands carrying e.coli germs to touch my keyboard or mouse. But spare me from the tyranny of some OCD case who washes her hands 100 times a day.

I asked the other women in my department about the notice and learned that it was posted only in two of the restrooms in the entire building. We speculated that the perpetrator was most likely someone who worked on the same floor as the restrooms. So we blamed the Human Resources department.

Immediately we plotted to retaliate by defacing the notice, such as smudging it with dirty hands after changing the copier toner cartridge. No one wanted to think about the other alternative, which would require using the notice as toilet paper and flushing it down the toilet.

After a few days of loud protests, the notices vanished and we felt vindicated!

Garage Sale

Today is Saturday, the second day of my neighborhood's annual August garage sale. Cheap thrills.

It rained the night before and my neighbors are slow to set out their items for sale in their driveways, while cars carrying impatient shoppers circle the streets in expectation.

I could have participated in the garage sale, but I don't have the patience to sit schvitzing in the heat as I watch people examine my junk that I'd be embarassed to give even to the Salvation Army. It's too bad that I don't have what garage sale shoppers want because I could sure use the money after being unemployed for nearly four months.

I go over to my neighbor's house to see how she's doing. I notice entire families in cars who stop and get out to browse the goods. They seem solemn and intent as they walk up the driveway. Most people avoid eye contact while a few smile and say "hello."

My neighbor is busy collecting money, giving change and placing the purchased items in used plastic grocery store bags, while she keeps an eye on her own two kids, ages 4 and 2. We talk briefly and I'm introduced to a couple who moved into the neighborhood a year ago. Soon, we're interrupted by more buyers waiting to pay for their treasures. Parents are buying used children's toys and clothing. An older woman buys a red and green Christmas sweater. Teenagers flip through a stack of old CD's in a cardboard box.

I stick around for awhile until I get bored and head home. It started raining about an hour ago. Ironically, the homes association plans the garage sale in August rather than in the spring to avoid the possibility of rain. The neighbors have pulled in their items and will leave any unwanted ones on curbside for the trash truck to pick up. But there usually isn't much left after the scavengers have made their rounds overnight.

Morale Boosters

Sometimes those who lose their jobs are better off than the employees who are left behind.

My brother told me about the meager ways in which his employer tries to boost employee morale after cutting jobs and throwing even more work without additional pay on those who remain.

"First they gave employees who were recognized with doing exemplary work HELIUM BALLOONS to “proudly” display in their cubicles. Then two nights ago, they provided banana splits…not from a nice place, just scooping ice cream out of what came from the grocery store, sliced bananas, and cheap toppings. Gosh, they must have spent a whopping $25 for this one. Now I hear today they are really going deep into their pockets and providing cookies!"

Sounds like a party for kids, not rewards for adults. This leads me to an obvious conclusion: Employers are patriarchs who treat their employees like children.

My former employer sometimes gave us catered food left over from an executive meeting held in the company's boardroom. Employees were encouraged to have potluck lunches once a month at which drawings was held for gift certificates donated by the employer. We were expected to be grateful for these small favors, which I now recognize as bribes so employees won't complain when they are not happy or treated well.

Instead of trying to boost morale, employers should concentrate their efforts on retaining employees by providing meaningful rewards for work well done.

Your (Former) Co-Workers Thank You

Ever wonder what happens to your stuff after you leave your place of employment? You can be sure that your (former) co-workers have descended upon your desk like a bunch of scavengers and anywhere else you may have stowed your things.

Bertha Butts just told me that after one female employee was laid off at my former employer, another one found and ate the food that the first employee had left behind in the office refrigerator. It's one thing to go through someone's desk or cubicle, and take a coveted chair or some other article. It's quite another to be eating someone else's leftovers. It's not that the employee didn't know because each food container had been marked with the previous owner's name. Girl, you know that's not right!!

So if you think your former co-workers are sad to see you go, think again. They're waiting for you to leave so they can ransack your desk and steal your food. Remember, if you're going to leave food behind, make sure it's rancid or left in a disgusting condition. While you're at it, leave that ratty old sweater behind and anything else that might have your cooties on it.

Under Employment

Just read in the newspaper that the national unemployment rate is going down. Must be all those minimum wage jobs being filled by high school and college students.

Recently, I applied for a job as an experienced editor for a market research firm. The interviewer, who sounded like she must have been 100 years old, called me and asked repeatedly if I was a student looking for summer work. I must have said no five times. She kept stressing how they wanted someone to be available to work about 30 hours a week, sometimes less. The more she talked, the more she reminded me of a cranky English teacher who I had in high school. It turned out that the job paid $8.50 per hour, no benefits.

Me: "I'm sorry but I'm not interested in a job that is less than 30 hours a week and pays starvation wages at that. I make more money getting unemployment compensation. "

Her: "Well, I'm sure a retired person might be interested in working a few hours a week."

Me: "Fine, then advertise in Modern Maturity."

Hey, I don't think a retired person would work under those conditions. Can you imagine working 40 years and putting up with a bunch of crap, only to retire so you could work at this pathetic job?

If there was ever a job that should be sent overseas, this one is it.