Soapbox Diner
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I'm all better now |
12.04.07 |
OK, everyone. We can call off the dogs now - halt the alerts. All previous and quite cranky posts from the past two weeks were a front. It was really just PMS. I'll all better now.
So. What's the news? Nothing much in particular other than we all know I smoke, right? I don't really keep it a secret. I smoke about 1/2 pack a day, or a little more. So anyways, we just moved into our new offices about, oh, six months ago, and they at last put an ashtray out about three months ago. Which is fine. In the summer I took my breaks walking down on the river trail and put my butts in recepticles placed every few hundred yards, whatever. But now that it's all rainy and cold and icky, and I have morphed into my winter hermit mode, I've been taking my smoke breaks under the awning of our office.
So anyways, it's been gross because neither the janitorial service or the grounds keepers empty the ashtrays - for three months.
Gross, right?
Even an avowed smoker such as myself thinks overflowing ashtrays are gross. It's just a fact, jack.
Anyways, so yesterday when the bookkeeper announced that she was placing an office supply order, it dawned on me. "I wonder if we could get a pooper-scooper type instrument for the clean removal of the butts."
Because I'm a panzy like that, and I don't like to get dirty cigarette ashes on my fingers and/or under my nails, right? I'm sure we can all agree that THAT is GROSS.
So I wrote an email the smokers. "Hey, everyone! I was gonna ask that the company purchase us a pooper-scooper for the butts, but honestly, if we make the mess, we should really keep it tidy ourselves. Who's with me?"
Did I send it to management? Did I accuse people of having disgusting habits? Did I point any fingers? NO. I DID NOT. I was nice.
Not one of the smokers talked to me all day anyways, though. Nor did they give me one of their Ferrero Rocher chocolates that they were passing out, either.
And I felt really bad all day, cuz I don't like being the heavy - but I guess that's my lot in life. Is it a lot? No, but it's my life! (10 more imaginary dollars if you can name the movie.)
So I felt bad, cleaned out the three months of accummulated butts from the ashtray, and felt like an asshole all day.
The End
Really though - is it REALLY that hard to clean up cigarette butts that you threw behind the bushes till you can no longer see the beauty bark? Do you REALLY need managerial instructions not to be a pig about your habits? Honestly. Old Girl at work passed the pouters off as having BWS - Beautiful Woman Syndrome. Somehow, she asserts, thin, beautiful women with big, perk boobs think they are entitled to having someone else clean up behind them. Which is a worthy goal, I'm sure. Unfortunately, I'm round, old and cranky, and BWS doesn't work with me. I have immunity, plus, I'm gorgeous myself, so they can really bite my cellulite.
Take that.
Other than that, I got nothin'. G'won now, beat it. I have dinner to make, homework to help with, and Bones/House to watch. Beat it!
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