Thursday 16 February 2012

Sink Noodles.

I work in an office where we share a bathroom with another company. The female employees of this upstanding television production house are dirty dirty people. Now, I don't mean dirty in the nudge nudge wink wink sense, and not in any sense that implies anything positive. No, I when I say dirty I mean unclean, gross, DIRTY.

But I started this with a promise of sink noodles, so let me explain:

We used to share a kitchen with these "ladies" (used in the sense that they do not have penises, nothing more) but we were forced to put locks on the cupboards after all our food was stolen, the garbage overflowed, the sink was plugged, and the last straw was when they stole an entire pound of coffee beans. Did I mention they also flatly denied these actions? Yea. Newsflash "ladies", there are 2 offices on the floor, and I found our cookie bags in your trash cans. I'm Encyclopedia Muthafukin' Brown.

Sink noodles, yes, I'm getting there.

After they were expelled from the kitchen, forced to use their 2 full kitchens two floors down (oh god the humanity!), the bathroom issues began. Plates, bowls, mugs, cutlery, napkins, and the refuse of so many anorexic lunches found it's way into the bathroom. I guess carrying your oatmeal bowl to the elevator is exhausting, and that filling it with water and leaving it to congeal in the bathroom is the better choice. Plates with sauces and salads, bowls of cereal and soup, and an endless stream of coffee mugs found their way into the bathroom, until one day the counter was filled...completely filled with dirty dishes. This was the day when someone decided that the sink was a good place to store their pad thai (see? Sink noodles. Disgusting).

At this point I had to admit to myself that my battle cry of passive aggressive sticky notes was not very effective... We caved and complained to the landlord. The dishes disappeared (briefly), but that's when the poop happened.

Poop. Yes, poop. I walked into the bathroom one day to find a sad little poo, on the floor, next to the toilet. It lay there, pathetic, and seemed to whisper to me "whhhhyyyy...?" I wished I could have given it a reason for its lonely existence on the floor, that I could tell it its mother had medical problems, or that huge socioeconomic forces had doomed it to a premature demise on an office bathroom floor...but I couldn't. I was scared. I realized that these "ladies" were masters of uncleanliness that I could never best. I muttered "Goddamn dirty birds..." and beat a hasty retreat, checking back every day to recon the poop. It lay in state for 3 days before it was unceremoniously wiped across the tiles, their territory marked.

I lock the door when I go into the kitchen now.

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