Corporate Dump.
Taking it back to Freud, back to basics, there are two kinds of people—those who hold it in, and those who fling it at the walls of their cage.
I am expulsive, or more palatable, exceptionally regular. And right now this is my salvation. I go to the bathroom fingers crossed that the handicapable (though their capability is lacking ability) stall is free. And if it is, I am set. This stall has it all. Room, a sink, a mirror and paper towels, though, curiously enough, no soap. So if I ever see some relieved guy wheeling out of the men’s room, I’ll know not to shake his hand.
So I wash my hands outside of the stall.
But I have learned two tricks to deal with slow times at work, and they have two logical handles:
No. 1
No. 2
Number one is an easy game. I drink as much water and coffee as I can and see how many times I can urinate in one day, and as I am a runner, it’s also logical. Number two, well, I’m just really, a really regular guy.
My twosies have become a form of yoga. Western yoga. I zen out, punching the middle out of the toilet paper seat guard and TPing up any other yogi’s leavings. Then I sit, and think, and push a little until inspiration hits. Sometimes it’s a way to wake up, sometimes it’s an excuse to leave the chair, and sometimes it’s a way to just get out when my area is too hot, too cold, too crowded, too something.
And the best part is, that legally, technically and morally I am getting paid to do this.
So for five to seven minutes a day, I have the best job ever.
And I drink a lot of coffee, see No. 1 for more information.