Soap. Something we (most of us, anyway) use every day. Warren Buffett has stock in. It keeps us healthy. Its one of the world’s greatest inventions.If you can find it.
Soap in our office can be considered equity, not just a necessary part of our work lives. We pull tarp, hands get dirty, we wash our hands. We’ll have a pizza party or snacks in the break room -- let me wash up before I touch anything. A 150-case delivery of promotional items comes in, and cardboard can leave a weird smell on your hands...you see where I’m going.
If soap were crude – drill, baby, drill. We need it. And lots of it. My hypochondriacal feelings aside.
Herein lies the problem. Our soap in the office keeps disappearing. Don’t know who takes it or where it goes, but it is gone. Every couple of weeks...poof! It really is like a whodunit. If there is ever a remake of the Clue movie, let it be about thievery – not murder: “Col. Mustard in the conference room with the Chinese food takeout!” (Lesley Ann Warren is welcome to reprise her role.)
Being personally responsible for my own hygiene – I bring this with me whenever I need to get clean. Maybe its a bit metro, but at least I’m not trying to spread MRSA or H1N1. I'd rather be like The Kid.
Back to the soap theft. There’s no pattern to this dastardly deed. No ransom notes. No letters to the newspapers about when they will strike next. No physical evidence to collect after this crime has been committed. Soap hasn't caused this much drama since the 70's!
Unfortunately, the kind women in our office are also now experiencing our frustration. The soap in their restroom gets whisked away to the men’s room, occasionally, since we have none. Now, warm sugar-scented soap isn’t my idea of masculinity, but it sure beats the alternative...nothing.
I always thought something beats nothing. Until one day.
“Here...use this,” someone decided. “This should do something for you.” In the men’s room was something I never thought I would see as a soap-alternative. Not hand-sanitizer (although I have a personal keg of it in my office). Not a bar of soap. Not even a commercial grade canister of what's used throughout the rest of the stadium (you know, the pink stuff). This is what was there.
What will this do? Make my filthy hands feel smoother? Leave the bacteria multiplying under my fingernails feeling calm and relaxed? How is this a proper (or acceptable) substitute?
Someone with enough sense left a note on the bottle -- "NOT SOAP." This simple act of defiance prompted me to act. I wasn’t going to sit by and let my co-workers (the ones I like, anyway) suffer the indignation of this evil-doer. I chose to stand up and be like Andrew Shepherd - “We have serious problems to solve and we need serious people to solve them." I got serious.
The next day, the men’s room was the proud recipient of this. Let’s not look at the cost of cleanliness. Let’s not use the state of our economy for the choice I made to keep my business hours sanitary. Today, frugality is the new green (which is the new black). The soap is also green...and smells like watermelon. Feels clean. I’m clean. We’re all clean.
The other day, Kevin Mahoney marveled at how I ate my lunch in my bare hand! “You scrub like you’re getting ready for surgery and I’ve NEVER seen you eat like this!” Yes, I was feeling confident with our new castile companion. Call me fearless.
Our lavatory is complete again. Soap, water AND handtowels (another blog entry for another day). Joy in Mud(less)ville...for now. Yet, the question remains – will we be victimized again by this restroom rapscallion? This bathroom brute? This washroom wretch?
I should install a GPS device on the next dispenser or put an intern on 24-hour surveillance. Maybe this will bring me to the felon who "found" Joyce’s holiday chocolate, Liz’s Girl Scout cookies, my tapegun, Sharon’s 3-hole punch...the list goes on.
The Front Office Offender is still out there. All the 99-cent soap in the world may not deter them from ever having enough. We’ll wait and see.
Till then, please stay clean. -- KJ
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2 comments:
Now, really, how can one comment on this? Other than to take pity on the poor guy and deluge him with hand-soap. (He's the one at the Raffle Table with the apparantly very-clean Megaphone, for those who don't know).
I for one will donate a 99-cent bottle in the coming week of Home games, and I urge my fellow readers to do the same! You'll be set for life (unless I vastly underestimate the number of people who read the blog...)
KJ, you'll either love me or hate me for this!
KJ uses more sick time than anyone not named Sharon at the office. If he had his way he would probably live his life like this http://kornorstone.com/db3/00225/kornorstone.com/_uimages/BubbleBoy1.jpg
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