Once upon a time.

Lo, many years past and once upon a time, a lone Johnny didst inhabit a cube on the third floor of the wood near the enchanted window.

It was a good cube, and it had all the comforts of home, and for the most part Johnny was happy there. There was one problem however. In the next cube over, across the mystical aisle, a horrible cackling ogre didst live. She was not evil, no -- However, 'twas her nature to annoy the Johnny by virtue of her cackling ogre personality. The ogre of the aisle was the loudest, most raucous ogre in all the land. Legends were told of her laughter, which was like that of a mad demon eating the souls of the damned. Everything the cackling ogre did, she did with verve and zest and other words normally used to describe the hyperactive hard-of-hearing with no "inside" voice.

After many clashes and some harsh words, Johnny abandoned his wonderful cube by the wonderful window, and moved all his belongings to the other end of the row, in order to avoid that most distasteful of chores, the thrashing of the ogre.

Ogre assault and battery thus avoided, Johnny lived in relative harmony, until he and the other people in his village were moved to the 5th floor. The fifth floor was at first bountiful -- the restrooms were uncrowded, the air clean and silent, the villagers happy. Soon however, the interlopers came, and the fifth floor was inundated with loud talkers, whistlers, cellphone Ali-Babblers, no-hand pissers and other assorted riff raff. Still, Johnny and his close compadre Gutu Notunobu enjoyed a relatively peaceful existence in the back of the woods near the window, watching each others' backs. Other than the occasional clash with the more obnoxious interlopers, life was good.

There was a problem hiding in the wood, however, as there always seems to be in tales such as this. You see, Johnny and Gutu did not own the land they lived and worked -- it belonged to the great Margerine and her merry man Peterstone.

It came to pass that Johnny and Gutu and their brethren and sistren were again to be relocated. In an effort to appease Johnny and Gutu, The Peterstone assured Johnny and Gutu of the prime cube locations. Much sighing was sighed, muttering was muttered, and boxes were boxed, and a whole bunch of shit was tossed out. And so it was that Gutu and Johnny moved their stuff, and life was again full of adjustments and upheaval.

At first, the new forest was to Johnny's liking. He was by himself in a quiet back cube with a wide open space between his cube entrance and the vast, glittering sunshine-filled window. Gutu was less lucky -- she was placed within arms length of the subjects over which she ruled. It was not a good situation for a ruler who was used to ruling from afar -- but she made due, and made plans. Plans to move outside the village walls.

As it usually is the first day in a new wood, Friday was full of exploration and wonderment. It was a happy day, and all was well.

However, there was another evil lurking.

Waiting to spring.

At the beginning of a fair new week, Johnny arrived at his new digs to find a conference table and 4 chairs in the clearing behind his cube, nary 10 feet away as the crow flies, had there actually been a crow loose in the building, which there was not. So you will have to take my word. It was right the fuck on top of Johnny.

And that was not the horror of this tale, oh no.

No, the true horror was revealed upon closer inspection of the interloper's chairs. Each chair had a sticker on the back, and on the sticker was a name.

The name of the horrible cackling ogre, who had moved into a cube not 30 feet from Johnny after he left the forest wood on Friday afternoon!

The horror could not be contained, and thusly, a rare post about the workplace didst make its way unto Johnny's blog for all to see.

Mother fucker.

Public Service Announcement

I am going to be deadly serious for a second. Restrooms are no laughing matter.

OK, on with the fun.

Have you all seen the movie Trainspotting? Good. That gives you a frame of reference for the restrooms at my last place of employment.

Let's start with a little background.

We had been around a while, but the software industry wasn't what it used to be, and things started going downhill, at least as far as personal space is concerned. The cubes got smaller, the many floors of people were consolidated into 2, and generally the belt started tightening all around. The rugs were vacuumed less often, the trash emptied less often, and -- here's the one I want to speak to you about -- the bathrooms were cleaned less often.

Combine this with having way too many men on this floor for one bathroom to support, and you can see this train wreck happening in slow motion.

First, it smelled like a pet store in there. And not a PetSmart, either. We're talking an independent pet store in a low-rent strip mall. A quick glance around while you're visiting the bathroom in question will tell you why -- for some reason, and this is based purely on anecdotal evidence I have gathered over the last 5 years - a large number of the men in this building piss using no hands at all. I can name two that I have personally witnessed doing this. I simply don't understand it. Here you have something in front of you that is squirting a liquid most people would rather not be covered in, and yet you choose to ignore it, and say, oh, I don't know, put your hands on your hips like you are the Master of All That You Survey. I mean, you're going to have to get it out and put it back, so why the hell do you let go of it in between? It makes no sense.

Secondly, I've never worked any place where you had to wait to take a piss. All the stalls and both urinals were full from 12:30 to 2 pm everyday. You felt like you were at a rock club between sets. If there were some cigarette butts and empty beer bottles on the counter, you'd be looking around for the condom machine. (An interesting aside: In PA, it seems like every bar has a vending machine that sells condoms in one slot, and aspirin in the other. No headache for you tonight, missy.)

Walk with me.

You see that rather large pool of pee in front of the both urinals? Yes, the one you're standing in. That's there because most of the male population of this building are not, shall we say, "in shape." In fact, most of them have probably not seen their junk without a mirror in 10 years. Combine this with their affinity for going with the questionable "look Ma, no-hands" technique, and it's really not surprising that it smells like a monkey house.

Here's something else. There's two urinals, right next to each other, and no "privacy wall" between them. That means a couple of things:

1) If you are shy, forget about it. These things are CLOSE. Put it this way: There is the definite potential for arm-hair contact. If the other guy's cell phone rang, you might actually answer it by mistake. Suffer from stage fright? Just know you will not be peeing in this building in this lifetime, unless you piss in a coffee cup at your cube and surreptitiously transfer it to a toilet or a potted plant at a later date. (That's a story for another time.)

2) Secondly - and this is by far the more serious of the two issues - If you get next to Mr. Manboobs Nohands, you have a pretty good shot at getting pissed on.

Here's a little quiz:

You are standing at a urinal, minding your own business. The guy standing next to you finishes pissing, then shakes his dick like it's a bottle of italian salad dressing. You look down just in time to see some pee splatter on your shoe. Is the correct response to:

(a) Do nothing. Pretend you didn't just get pissed on, turn, wash your hands, and leave.
(b) Turn and politely say, "You might want to work on that shake. It's a little exuberant*."
(c) Yell "Jesus Christ! You just shook PISS on me!" What the FUCK?"

Well, it turns out that choice (c), the only one I personally have any experience with, is probably not the correct answer. If there is ever a next time, and I'm hoping like hell there won't be, I'll try one of the other answers and get back to you.

And here's some little bathroom tips for all y'all:

1. Wash your hands. People notice. If you don't, don't act all surprised when suddenly nobody will shake your hand. And use soap for christsakes. Don't do one of those wave-the-hand-in-the- general-direction-of-the-water type moves and call it a day.

2. Don't talk to me when I'm pissing.

3. Don't talk to me from a stall just because you recognized me through that little door crack.

4. Basically, don't talk to me at all - until and unless we are both at least 25 feet from any bathroom door.

Note to the cleaning lady: Stop following me around. I'm tired of yelling, "Yes, someone's in here!"

*ex·u·ber·ant ( P ) (g-zbr-nt) adj.
1. Full of unrestrained enthusiasm or joy.
2. Lavish; extravagant.
3. Extreme in degree, size, or extent.