Water in the bathroom?

Walked into one of the two one-holer bathrooms in the “suite” in which I work this morning, to a huge puddle.  The sink wasn’t full.  The toilet wasn’t full.  The designers put the drain hole in the middle of the floor, despite the floor’s constant slant to the door.  There was a room-wide puddle, not deep enough to float the trashcan.  Ick.  At least the water looked clean.  I thought I’d do someone a solid and try to clean it up.  But, for one, there weren’t enough paper towels (I tried).  For another thing, well, something made it wet, and someone who knew what they were doing had to look at it.

Probably the ogre of a security guard who spends a half-hour in there sometimes and comes out in different cloths and with a shameful look on his face.  He’s creepy.  He’ll ride the elevator with you (and only you) up six floors and not say a word, even when you talk to him.  I’ve taken to not speaking to him, either, only nodding in his direction.  The other guards (save another creepy bathroom stalker) are nice, gregarious and, again, nice.  I still nod at this big bugger, though.

Because, damn, my parents raised me better than to ignore people.

Mr. Poopchute on my desk.

mrpc0609
Got this cool little guy for Christmas. He holds tape, pens, cards and has a magnet in his butt to pull paperclips out of the potty.

This week is going by slowly! I had a meeting with a lawyer Monday morning to make sure I don’t get screwed over completely by the lady that hit me and her insurance company. No offense to lawyers or to this particular guy (who was extremely nice and teaches at the university where I work), but I really don’t like having to do this. Really. No. But I don’t wanna get stuck paying bills I shouldn’t even have, either.

I also found out that I have to go see Mr. Foot Doctor again because I am supposed to find out exactly what probability of future damage/pain there is and how bad it will be. While I suppose it would be good to know, I really don’t want to expect it. I need my feet. The idea that they might start giving me hell in ten years because of someone’s inability to drive a car properly makes me want to run over someone’s face (guess who) with this funny shoe I still have to wear. I’m kinda kidding. Kinda.

I was told that this will take at least 4-6 months to solve. In a way, that’s good. We’re moving next week, and Mrs. P. is starting a new job, and we’re officially trying to get pregnant next month. So something to back-burner might actually be good. Besides, as long as someone else fights out getting hospital bills paid and all that, I can live with it more peacefully.

I’m going to finish my mocha now.