For the record: it will always be too early in the morning to deal with Bio-hazard waste, but even more so before you have had your coffee.
This morning started much as most did, with paperwork printing and report updates. I was head-down-nose-to-the-grindstone for twenty minutes before calling out to the lobby at (who I thought was) the WHS Pimp.
…It was an easy mistake, as whoever was out there, was making coffee.
…And Boss not only doesn’t know how, but was busy at the moment…arguing over Christmas purchases for the kids on the phone with his ex-wife in his office.
Getting no response to my call, I popped up from the desk with papers in-hand and marched to the lobby in hopes of gaining info on a product drop-date. But, there standing over the coffee maker…scoop in-hand…was NOT the WHS Pimp. It was a tiny man in a beanie hat who looked as if he hadn’t showered or shaved in about a week and a half.
“Must be a Teamster,” I thought to myself as I smiled at him with a blink, then turned on-heel towards the Warehouse. Following the sounds of the forklift, the WHS Pimp was found, my stocking question answered, as I pointed to the truck.
Me: That one of our usual guys? I don’t remember seeing him before.
WHS Pimp: The driver? No. He’s new.
Me: I thought he was you, in the lobby.
WHS Pimp: Thanks?
Me: No…I mean: he was making coffee.
WHS Pimp: Making coffee?
Me: Yeah.
WHS Pimp: Okay.
Me: I was just wondering…does he do this often?
WHS Pimp: I dunno. Not here, anyway.
Me: Okay. So…not to be mean or anything but…
WHS Pimp: Yeah?
Me: Maybe don’t drink the coffee?
WHS Pimp: (Pshaw.) No. It’s fine.
Me: Okay. Well…you drink it first.
WHS Pimp: Lemme finish the truck and I’m on it.
…To which I nodded my head and headed back into the office, where — I kid you not –the second I opened the door I was hit with a warm wall of rotting death.
…Which meant that, clearly, said Teamster had just completed one of the Union’s favorite past-times of taking a giant dump in your office facilities.
I get it:
It’s warm.
It’s clean.
It isn’t a truck-stop, or a Denny’s with another dude sitting in the next stall.
…But for whatever reason that I am NOT sure of, the ways of the road seem to creep into the habits of these dudes…”cleanliness next to Godliness,” being the least favored theme on which to build their hygiene habits, and maybe also: their noses are all broken. Because it seems to me, that they are never conscious of the smell which follows their deed…what’s more, might even be rather proud of it…marching around the lobby afterward, with the bathroom door left wide-open and zero attempts at aerosoling the atmosphere, or washing their hands or (in a lot of cases) even flushing.
…So Mr. Teamster Beanie, was found. In his hand: a fresh (?) pot of water, being taken with him from said stench-way, directly to the coffee pot, where he loaded it, and pressed the brewing button.
Eyes tearing from poisoned gas, I tried to be civil, as I rounded the corner to my office, and waited for Mr. Teamster Beanie to exit…which he did…to join the fellas out in the Warehouse.
…Which is immediately when I shot into action, beating it for the bathroom door…where remains of a new potty-training individual would be the ONLY excuse for what I found. Which I will not describe. But sufficient to say: it took two flushes, three Clorox wipes, and a shit-ton of Lysol spray to repair.
After detoxing myself with harsh chemicals and five or ten handwashings, I eventually emerged back into the lobby, where the bubble and fart-burp of newly brewing coffee greeted me. Along with, soon-after, Boss.
Boss: Hey. I’m gonna run to 7-11, want anything?
Me: Coffee.
(Boss looks at coffee maker, and points.)
Me: After what I had to just clean up in there, I would lick the Warehouse ground, before I would touch whatever is cooking over there.
Boss: A bad one, huh?
Me: Could you not SMELL it?!
(Boss shrugs. My face, holding a total look of disgust.)
Me: God, I hope whatever is in “that,” gets somehow killed by the heat. We may even need a new coffee maker…
Boss: You are just way too germ-a-phobe-ee.
Me: Poop on the seat! ON. THE. SEAT!
Boss: So a large coffee.
Me: YES!
Boss: Got it.
(And he exits, as enters WHS Pimp. I all but throw my body as a buffer, directly at him.)
Me: Don’t. Drink. The coffee.
…And he could tell by my face that this time: I really meant it.
~D
