Monday, September 17, 2012

It's not my job!

Daily Disclaimer: Today was supposed to be my post on the Crazy-Hot scale, but I'm putting that off until the end of the week so I can do a little more research and adjust my settings to Scary Sexy. Instead, I am going to address something that has been on my mind the past few days because if I don't say something in a big way, I might explode in rage. :) 

My boss sometimes refers to me as his assistant. One of the client managers occasionally calls me the office manager. My actual job title, according to my business card, is Program Support Manager. I do daily reports to identify productivity and disposition reports for our sales and customer service teams. From time to time I do office shopping and order supplies. Also, I bring joy to everyone I meet. I do, dammit! 

Friday a fellow female employee came to my desk to inform me that there was a spider the size of a house in the ladies room. I quickly dispelled any notion that my job responsibilities included spider extermination and advised her to either kill it herself or, failing that, find another co-worker willing to participate in her murderous plans. Delegate. That's how I roll. The bathrooms are stocked with paper towels, liquid soaps, toilet tissue, and my favorite, Bed Head aerosol hairspray. Nothing stops a spider faster than freeze spray. I felt no need to educate these women on the many ways to stop a speeding spider. Live and learn girls.

Probably like this, but I wouldn't know because it's not my damned job. 

Feeling I had safely side stepped the spider task, I went about the business of doing my reports and watching the clock to see, to the exact minute, how much longer I had left in my day. Sometime around 2 PM I was interrupted by yet another fellow breasted employee. "Tara said to let you know that something needs to be cleaned in the second stall." In this case I had no one to delegate to.

The supply closet at work is filled with all sorts of chemicals and paper products we don't want open for all staff. You never know when someone might start supplementing their bonus with Angel Soft toilet paper, ya know? Plus, we buy Bounty and Clorox and other name brand items. Those are really attractive products to steal. As a result, this room is locked and off limits. Obviously if we cannot trust people to keep their mitts off the toilet paper we definitely cannot give them access to the chemicals. What if they went on a cleaning rampage and eliminated all dirt from the facility?!

The key code is known to management only. We're such elitists. I am often charged with handling all requests for bathroom supplies when the ladies room is out of something. It's annoying, but that's what happens when you're in a high ranking position. People WILL want your toilet paper. It's only natural. While Sarah manages the Denver office single-handedly, I dare say she doesn't want to come back and share this responsibility.

I stood up, rolled my eyes, and let out a very long and pointed sigh. For the life of me I cannot figure out how women can have such nasty toilet habits. When you walk into a shared toilet do you not look before you sit down? When you're finished do you not turn around to make sure that things went down when you flushed? It's common courtesy, dammit! If you noticed that you somehow managed to urinate on the seat (yes, I know... WTF?) do you not wipe it off?

I made my way to the supply closet to get disposable gloves and bathroom cleaner, all the while making my displeasure known on the way through the office. "I swear to God if people cannot learn to clean up after themselves in the bathroom, they should be fired. How did they make it this far in life? I'm going to shoot someone. Maybe me." Of course I followed this rant with a smile and skipped the rest of the way to the ladies room and swung the door open, ready to eliminate the filth in question.

This has happened before. Someone will get pee on the seat, a skidder in the bowl, or even a smudge on the seat. Don't ask me how. I don't even want to imagine it. I was disgusted, but prepared. Unfortunately there is no way to prepare for the shock I received when I pulled open the door to the back stall.

Trust me, you don't wanna see this.*


How in the hell did someone crap on the OUTSIDE of the toilet? Seriously?! I can't accuse anyone specifically for this offense. Obviously we don't have cameras as that would be highly illegal. At first I thought, "How short does a person need to be in order to DO that?" and then as I approached the toilet with my gloves on and foaming cleaner at arm's length, I noticed the smear marks. I also noticed the rest of the toilet is pristine. I don't think anyone had an "accident". I think someone had an "on purpose". My question now is, "How crazy do you have to be to do something like this?"

Do you think it's because I refused to kill the spider?

*I do have photographic evidence and did make 2 co-workers view this disaster so that next time my boss asks what the hell I do around here I can say, "Let me show you the shit I have to put up with!"

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