The Martians Are Here...Or Maybe I'm Just Becoming Snobby...

I work in a three story building on the third floor. The building belongs to the state and specifically hosts seminars, workshops, computers, and other various resources dedicated to helping the unemployed find jobs. The company I work for is not affiliated with the rest of the building, even though we help individuals find jobs too. This was casually reminded to me when one of the federal workers came up to me and told me that "for once, the private sector is making more than the feds" and that he was getting ready to take his mandatory furlough tomorrow.

Though the building is usually very busy, especially due to the large numbers of unemployment, most of the traffic is confined to the 1st and 2nd floors. This has meant that the 3rd floor has been very quiet and relatively professional. One of my favorite things about the 3rd floor are the bathrooms. There are only a few males that work on the 3rd floor, and we have taken great pride in our bathroom. It is always very clean, smells nice (as nice as a bathroom can smell I suppose), and is extremely private. One day I ventured into the bathroom on the 1st floor and decided that I could hold it...

This week, the 1st floor has been undergoing renovations. Since joblessness waits for no one, the 1st floor and its operations have been scattered throughout the 2nd and 3rd floors. When I heard loud noises on the 3rd floor, I peaked over my cubicle walls and saw stacks of computers and office equipment being moved in. At this point, I knew that we were in for the long haul.

Things have not become "loud" yet, even though there is an increase in the volume of people now (fortunately, the 2nd floor took the brunt of the people). What's most concerning surrounds my precious bathroom. The past 3 days when I've gone to take my pre-lunch tinkle, I have ran into a man, on his cell phone, sitting on the sink, facing the urinal. When I begin, he doesn't finish, rather, he walks into the bathroom lobby until I come out, then he walks back in. What's creepier is that he's talking about parole and the "system" and in comes white-boy-Steve, a member of "corporate" America.

What's worse, is that some of these people think that the floor has a self cleaning system, and that the toilet seats don't pivot up. This has left our floors cluttered with used paper and our toilet seats covered in driblets.

Maybe everybody is in a sudden hurry. The same hurry that negates all forms of elevator courtesy. I've begun to take the stairs because the elevators have become causeways of human indecency. People on their cell phones, cursing up a storm, rush into the elevators before others have a chance to step off. When the elevator doors open, there is somebody RIGHT up in your face who you have to do the awkward dance with before literally pushing them aside. Whatever happened to letting everybody off the elevator before getting on? Why do people wait point-blank at the elevator door? What the fuck is going on!

In the back of my mind, there is an ever apparent reason beyond the economy as to why some of these people aren't employed. There seems to be a lacking human decency or even worse, a failure to recognize ones surroundings. When somebody is speaking loudly on there cell phone right outside my cubicle, or pacing up and down the halls, I stand up and remind them that "this is an office" and direct him to one of the conference rooms to complete their call. It's one thing for an individual to talk loudly, it's another thing for that individual to be talking loudly to his parole officer, or welfare worker, or whatever have you.

I can't wait until the 1st floor is done...Or maybe I should post a sign that reads "No Cell Phones - I'm Trying to Poop".