My office is really classy. Alright, not really. But it isn’t so bad. It’s a big space, I don’t have a cubicle, I do have a window, we even have a box of beer hats. I’m not lying. A whole box. But we don’t have beer. I’ve been meaning to remedy that but usually I’m so hungover by the time I get to work the last thing I want is another beer.
What is not in my office is a bathroom. We’re just in a big room and the bathroom is down the hall, shared with the other small business on our floor. Before today it was run down. It was kind of like having to go to the bathroom at a gas station. Not a nice gas station like sheetz, but a run-down, Alabama bathroom. In fact, I’m really surprised I don’t have to ask for the key from a 5-toothed inbred nick-named “Shankers” because of his underdeveloped left leg and penchant for saying “Shanks!” instead of “thanks!” And when I’d ask him for the key he’d eye up my “city-clothes” and spit into a spittoon. Then he’d look at me all squinty-eyed and tell me not to steal anything. “Okay I won’t!” I’d say and roll my eyes. Then he’d threaten me and we’d become best of friends. We’d start a horse-training business and sell horses to the circus. Then, after various failed side-projects our company would go bankrupt and we’d be put in jail for tax-evasion. Then I’d kill him with a shiv in his sleep.
But today there was a big change. After I finished peeing I went to the sink to look for the hand-dispenser of soap and got ready to wipe my hands on my jeans when, upon further inspection, a soap dispenser! And not just any old soap, that fancy kind that just turns into foam when you squirt it from the machine. As I prepared to wipe my hands on my jeans, I then saw the paper towel dispenser. I couldn’t believe my eyes!
Soap AND paper towels! Things are looking up. I mean seriously, everywhere I go. Ants, dogs, Aunts, cats, people, it’s really weird. Just gazing skyward. And I say to them “what are you doing?!” And they just keep gazing skyward. I don’t know why.
But I have soap. And paper towels.
From no soap to foam soap? You, my friend, have scored quite the soap booty. And I’m a girl who knows her soap.