The Bathroom Troll


The dog-and-pony show that I call work continues to stupefy me and take life into new realms of weirdness.

You all know that I ride my bike to work at least 3 times a week. When I do, naturally I stuff my backpack with my work clothes since, well, I don’t think they’d appreciate me sitting at my desk in bike shorts and an Under Armour compression shirt, dripping in sweat.

After I put my lunch in the fridge, I head to the big stall in the bathroom to change into my work clothes and without fail, between 6:45 and 6:55 a.m., the door opens, there’s a crinkling of a plastic bag, and then…nothing.

That’s it. There’s nobody coming in, there are no echoing footsteps, absolutely nothing. So from what I can gather, some asshole—for whatever reason—simply opens the door all the way as he passes the bathroom and then continues down his merry way to the elevator, probably skipping and whistling “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” or something.

Hmmm…and for what?

I dunno. But after being a part of The Banana Fucking Splits Show for a few months and watching how the place operates (which to this day astounds me), I’ve decided not to question anything anymore. I just roll with the punches and hope that someday, a big bag of money shows up on my door. There’s no reason it would; it’s just nice to think about.

Search_over_engineeredSpeaking of dysfunctional workplaces, I finally got my PC which actually worries me more than anything. You see, getting a PC is akin to the Kiss of Death for me: every time I get one, I’m moved to another desk (or table or M*A*S*H unit in the parking lot, as it were). And being it was yet another computer, it had to reinstall everything (residing on the network) all over again.

The one thing it couldn’t do for me was create my e-mail signature, which is usually so cut-and-paste it’s ridiculous. But no, that’s not how we roll.

I had to copy-and-paste generic text and replace the names and phone numbers with mine, download their all-too-important logo, etc., etc., etc. The problem was that I couldn’t find the Signatures folder which is where I needed to save the HTML file.

So I did the only logical thing: I searched for it on the PC. As the Microsoft dog pawed at the ground waiting to return my search results, the monitor went blank and the damn thing restarted.

It did this each time I tried to search for it. I eventually got it to save the signature but man, at least give me a PC that works, will you?

Welcome to Idearc Media, where nothing makes sense and the Keys of Knowledge have been lost forever.

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Losing “The Loser”

Louis' gift to Anthony. Click to enlarge.

Click to enlarge

Louis was the UPS delivery guy on a route that included the medical center where Ann works: an orthodontist office where he was also a patient. And although I only met him a few times, I feel compelled to write about him today for whether he knew it or not, he had an effect my entire family’s life.

You see, Louis died yesterday while making deliveries–I shit you not. He was 35 and word is he suffered a massive heart-attack between deliveries, where he was found lying on the ground unconscious. Sadly, he was already gone by the time help arrived; attempts to revive him would have proven futile.

When Ann was still working full-time, I don’t think I can recall a single day that she didn’t have some sort of humorous anecdote about “Louis the Loser” as she and Anthony jokingly called him while the kid innocently flashed the loser “L” at him. (Ann would occasionally bring Anthony with her when she only worked a few hours and they had no patients.) He was a good guy that had his share of health problems, including survivng a form of cancer, but still continued to plug away for the simple sake living.

And he was quite affable. I often asked Ann if he ever completed his route on time as he seemed to spend a good portion of it chatting with all the girls at her job and the other offices in the center.

But that was Louis.

He once gave Anthony a tour of his UPS truck because, as you may know, little boys and big trucks are a match made in Heaven. And my God, he spoke about that day for months and whenever he saw a UPS truck, he always checked to see if his buddy Louis was driving.

I’m sure he’ll still habitually do it.

So imagine their heartache and the collective tears shed last night when Ann received a call from the co-worker that spoke to Louis last. Anthony was more upset that he wouldn’t be getting anymore toy UPS trucks from him; Ann was in shock at the sudden and unexpected loss of a business associate and friend.

And although he’s not even 5 yet, Anthony is fully aware that when someone passes away, he won’t ever see them again.

“He’s gonna be in the cemetery,” he sadly asked Ann. She nodded and up to this point I was good. But hearing his cries tore me up and then I began to sob over his passing.

Oddly enough, yesterday Anthony was playing in bed with the big die-cast UPS truck that Louis bought for him (see inset). He hadn’t played with it in a while for whatever reason but he chose to yesterday–long before Ann got the tragic news. Call it what you will.

The truck, by the way, was still in his bed when we tucked him in for the night. And once tucked in, Ann and I returned to the living room to talk a little more about the matter.

I started.

“Can you imagine what his funeral’s going to be like? Buried in a cardboard box with a tracking label…being carried to his resting place in a big, brown truck…a procession of UPS trucks behind that…lots of guys and gals in brown outfits…”

Then Ann had her say.

“And how would you like to take over that route? ‘Congratulations! You finally got that route you’ve always wanted!'”

Morbid? Perhaps, but that’s how we tend to deal with things such as this, and I would expect nothing less to be said after I fade into nothingness.

But it made her laugh. And I’m sure Louis would have chuckled about it, too.

So vaya con Dios, Louis. There’s a little boy down here that already misses you and will think of you whenever he sees one of those big, noisy, brown delivery trucks. And since you no longer have a schedule to keep, take it easy. Time is finally on your side, man.

Just don’t flirt with the girls. The ramifications may be more than you bargained for.

UPDATE: Last night, Ann shared something with me about Louis: even if he didn’t have a delivery for her office, he would still walk by and yell, “ANNIE!” and she would reply, “LOUIE!” That was it.

When she went to sleep on the night she heard of his passing, Ann had a dream of Louis running by and yelling, “BYE, ANNIE!” and her replying, “BYE, LOUIE!”

I don’t think there’s anything else to say.

In lieu of comments, I ask that you please consider donating whatever you can to your local cancer research institute, Children’s Miracle Network, The American Heart Association, Make-A-Wish Foundation, etc.

Thanks, guys.

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