The washrooms on our floor are bizarre. We’re talking office washrooms here. How can a lone sock end up on the counter? How can you lose a sock in an office bathroom in October of all months? Wouldn’t you notice it when you get outside?
Then there’s the mystery of the disappearing soap. The building supplies soap in the bathrooms, obviously, but it’s that fluorescent-pink-as-an-alternate-you-can-use-it-to-refinish-your-living-room-floor stuff. Plus it really doesn’t smell that good. So someone from our office brought in a bottle of hand soap. Your ordinary run of the mill Jergens Soft Soap. Nothing fancy. Not Aveda, not Crabtree and Evelyn, not Body Shop. Jergens soft soap at two bucks a bottle. Two days later it was gone. Stolen. Who the hell would steal a two buck bottle of soap? Plus, damn, we were being nice. We left it there so everyone could use it, even the nutjobs from the sixth floor who sneak down to our washroom.
I have rarely, if ever, talked directly about my job here, but today, I gotta tell you, I hate numbers. I hate working with numbers, I hate trying to puzzle out what they mean. They’re just squiggles on a page for me. Numbers make me feel stupid. More to the point numbers make me look stupid. Even more to the point, after a few hours, numbers actually make me stupid.
They don’t talk to me. They turn their backs on me. They are out to get me. Not the best when you work in an engineering firm.
Gimme a new language and I’ll absorb it pretty easily, give me numbers and they’ll wrestle me down, beat me over the head and make me bleed.