Oh the glamour of the TV industry. So. Much. Glamour.
But my job has some very clearly delineated NO zones. One of those is dog pee clean up. Not to long ago I was minding my own business, staring with great concentration at a series of spreadsheets that had lost all meaning, when a dog wandered into our office.
Let me preface this by saying I LOVE dogs. They are lovely and great, and I want one, BUT, this was a little flouffy (pronounced flooff-ee, I made it, ah keeps eet!) dog whose haircuts cost more than mine... I was on my guard. It's nature's inbuilt warning system for jerks...(like when you see a fat 8yr old with an iPad...you just know they're going to kick you in the shins and call you a paedophile if you get in their way...)
So this dog prances into the office, sniffs around, totally ignores my attempts to give cuddles (with ultimately added insult to injury), then proceeded to squat and piss on our floor. Time slowed down as the pee illustrated all the tilts and angles in the laminate flooring. We stared. The dog stood up and pranced the fuck out, sprinkling a little trail of pee from her curly ass fur...which is about as close as a dog is going to get to flipping the bird.
A minute later one of the "ladies" from the floor-pooping office stuck her head in the door:
I waited for a moment, sure that some kind of basic human decency would force her to return, hopefully armed with paper towels. Eventually the eau du toilette of rancid dog pee overwhelmed my shock and I followed her down the hallway to her offices, where I stated (once again) "Your dog PEED on our floor..."
For a moment she tried to stand me down before relenting and exclaiming "Oh no! How awful!"...yet another awkward staring contest. I countered with:
"So, do you have something you can use, or do you need some of our paper towels?
She caved, and followed me back to our urine-enriched office, towels in hand.
Well played floor-poopers. A+ for effort, -9000 for douchbaggery.
|lol, u mad?|