Mystery Solved: The Crusade of The Midnight Potty Perpatrator

Let's start this chat with a little Marcy Logic, shall we?

I work in a 46 (forty-six) story building with at least one men's and one women's bathroom on each floor (I say "at least" because The Man has his own en suite Princess Potty ... and if our own Man has his own can, I would imagine there are a few other boss mans in our building that won't take a leak among the public). In each ladies' restroom, there are 3 stalls. Now because I don't use the men's room, I'm going to go out on a limb and say for all intents and purposes, the men's bathroom has 3 stalls too ... plus probably a few gross urinals, but we'll leave those out of the equation. So we have at least 276 working toilets in the building. Our office up in the sky has anywhere from 30-50 people on any given day. I think only once during actual business hours have I ever had to wait for a stall to open up ... and we have quite a few females in the office. I understand that other floors are probably set up to fit more employees, so there may potentially be time to play the waiting game and maybe give your best potty dance a go.

Furthermore, when we first moved into our office back in August, our floor had been vacant for quite some time. So naturally, one could expect for the other building tenants that sandwich our floors to take a quick trip up/down the stair well and use the bathroom on our floor. But wouldn't it also be reasonable to think that once the floor becomes occupied, they would stop infiltrating our territory? I mean, I know the hydrant has already been marked, but it's ours now. Beat it! I remember some random lady that didn't work with us walking in as I was washing my hands saying, "Oh! Someone is actually on this floor now?" Yes ma'am. Now fly, fly, little birdie. Spread the word! Almost one year later, and people are still using our bathroom. I mean, it's probably not technically ours since it is out in the hall, outside of our doors, but we have the whole floor. And we pay rent. It's just ours, okay? Hmph.

One other restroom nugget (ew, that didn't sound quite right) for you to ponder is that our bathrooms have motion sensors. So after X amount of motionless time in the bathroom, the lights go out. A week or so ago, I got up to go to the bathroom. I opened the door, and the lights were off. I continue walking in quite content because I knew that meant no one had been in there for a while (i.e. no weird smells) and no one would be in there. I go into a stall, and just as I'm contemplating my latest potty pondering, I heard another toilet flush and the toilet paper rolling. Ok, wait ... *head tilt* ... I thought I was alone. The lights were DEFINITELY out. And I DEFINITELY did not hear anyone else come in behind me. Was this person peeing in the dark? Oh. OOoooh. Oh, Lord. I'm not sure at which point the lights go out, but how long had this person been in there? Oh, no. I had to get out quick before she assaulted my olfactory senses (not that ladies do that). I washed my hands and got the hell out of there. I was also afraid that she would come out while I was at the sink (even though I was curious who it was) and there'd be that whole extremely awkward moment like "I totally just caught you waging war under the cover of darkness."

Just this week I had another encounter with the Midnight Potty Perpatrator (I like nicknames, ok? They're fun and they come in handy). I walked in and the lights were definitely off. I go in to do my business, and heard another toilet flush. Only this time, she beat me to the sink. IT WAS SOMEBODY FROM A DIFFERENT FLOOR!!!! Can we just talk about this for a second? Am I the only one who finds it odd / a little rude that she felt the need to launchWorld Wars III & IV on our floor? I mean, I guess she didn't want the humiliation of her own co-workers catching her in the act ... in the dark ...  but really? Seriously? If our floor was still vacant, bomb away. But, please, PLEASE I BEG YOU, use your own floor's bathroom. Or become The Woman of your company and get your own Princess Potty. Thanks and Gig'em.

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Shoots and Lighters

From time to time, I get a few interesting tenant phone calls. One of our Houston tenants called last week to complain about a series of unfortunate events at his apartment. Now, I appreciate great customer service, so I think it’s important to deliver the same kind of service I would expect as a customer. But sometimes the customers make it so hard to hold in all of the smart-ass comments  (shown in blue) that jingle-jangle in my brain.

Here’s what transpired:

Ring, ring …

“[Blah blue blee blue], how may I help you?”

“Yeah, hai. Ah’m eeun apartment eighteen-nahnteen. Ah wanted taooo make a complaint.”

You know how all you hear when Charlie Brown’s teacher speaks is “womp, womp, womp, wah womp womp?” Well, I didn’t hear that, but all I could hear was “Lieutenant Da-un, I brought some ice cream for ya, Lieutenant Da-un” and “I love you Jen-nay.” Lock it up, Marcy.

“Okay, sir. Which property are you at?”

“Eighteen-nahnteen.”

“Okay, but which property ... what is the name of the complex?”

“Uhh, the one in Houston.”

Oh, jeez. Here we go.

“Okay, sir, we have 7 properties in the Greater Houston area. Are you at *starting at the top of my list* [Blah Blah]?”

“No, the one in Houston.”

Sir, do you know where you live? I understand you’re in #1819 … in Houston … but I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific. We’re not in Kansas anymore, kapeesh?

“Okay, how about [Blah Blah]?”

“No! In HOUSTON!”

Listen, buddy. Houston is the 4th largest city in America. Regardless of whether or not you live inside the actual city limits, if you’re close, most people just say Houston. So forgive me for including these, but unless you can give me a little more direction, spare me the ‘tude dude. I’m just going to keep playing Go Fish. HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE?!?

“Sir, which part of Houston?”

“On the Beltway.”

……………………….. I realize we only have one property just off the Beltway, but can I show you why this response irritated me?

“Ok, so [Blah Blah]?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

Oh, good. Glad we took 5 minutes to knock that out.

“Ok, sir. Shoot – how can I help you?”

 “Yeah, someone’s been stealin’ mah lat[mumbling]s.”

“…Your lights?”

“No, my laiiighters.”

“…Your ladders?”

“Yeah, I’ve had three laiiiighters stolen. I think it’s every time the lawn crew comes. But I’ve had 2 Zippos and a Bic stolen.”

“Oooh, your lighters. As in cigarette lighters.”

That sounds like an emergency. Maybe you should hang up and call the police.*

“Ok, sir, have you talked to the leasing office there?”

“No, this was the only number I could find. But I’m pretty sure it’s the lawn crew stealing my laiiighters off my patio.”

Here’s a thought, PUT YOUR LAIIIGHTERS INSIDE. Who’da thunk it?

“That’s strange.”

“No, it’s not straaaynge. Someone’s just stealin’ mah laiiighters.”

“It’s uh….just a personal opinion, sir. Let’s try the leasing office there. I’m sure someone will be happy to assist you.”

Seriously? You’re absolutely right, sir. It’s not strange; it’s not strange at all that someone swipes your lighter when you leave it out in the open. Strange would be your lighter growing a pair of legs and walking off after you told him to stay. Day-own Laiiighter. Good boy.

*Additional commentary brought to you by this funny lady.

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Pretty Moments

Sometimes, people say or do dumb things ...

Example:

Visitor: You know you guys aren't listed in the directory downstairs?
Me: Oh, really? No, I didn't. Thanks. I'll have that checked out.
Visitor: Yeah, so then I tried looking [him] up under Individuals, but I couldn't find anyone there either.
Me: Well, I would imagine if we aren't listed as a company in the directory downstairs, our employees wouldn't be individually listed either.
Visitor: Oh, yeah ... that's true.

(Of course it is.)

And sometimes it's so far beyond a blonde moment the only thing you can say is "you're pretty" - as in, "I'm not sure where your brain just ran off to, but at least you're pretty." You don't want to draw attention to their brain fart with mean insults, so you give them a "compliment".

Example:
I walked into the mail room and a co-worker was trying to run an envelope through the postage machine, saw me, and asked for help.

Co-worker: Oh, good! It's you! Can you show me how to work this?
Me: Sure, of course.

I walked over to a blank screen ... (Seriously. Seriously? Really? I know it all looks pretty vague and makes loud noises, but it's not THAT difficult!) ... and pressed the power button.

Me: You're pretty. It helps when you turn the machine on.

I can't make this up.

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Checking In

We're off to an early start, ladies and gents. This is promising. Let's review the scene of the crime, shall we?

There are 50 large LCD screens clearly marked "Bag Drop: Customers who have checked in". I stepped in line, as 1) I have indeed already checked in, and 2) I need to drop my bag off. A lady unbeknownst to me walks up, "Hello." I oblige, "Good morning." Now, if I'm lyin' I'm cryin' (and I ain't shed a tear), but the lady then asked, "Do you see a sign for baggage drop?"

............................

"Ummm, yes ma'am, right there."

And there, and there, and there, AND THERE, AND THERE, AND THERE! Really? You're pretty.

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