I work in an office building.  My company occupies the entire floor I work on.  Actually, the entire building.  In the centre of my floor are the elevators, kitchen, bathrooms and the hallway.

Today we will be discussing the bathrooms.

There’s a women’s, a men’s and a separate handicapped washroom.

No one that works on my floor at the moment is handicapped.  So except for an occasional visitor, that washroom doesn’t get used – by handicapped people.

Instead, the male population of my floor have turned this washroom into the poo-room.  As in . . . the washroom of choice for when they have to poo.  And I use the term “male population” here because, as we all know, women don’t poo at work.  Unless there’s some kind of rare extreme emergency or unpleasant stomach bug.

As I navigate my way around the floor throughout the day, I frequently walk through the centre hallway, thus passing by the washroom area.

I would like to direct the following open letter to the men of my floor;

Dear Male Coworkers,

When I see you coming out of the “Handicapped Washroom” I know exactly what you’ve just finished doing.  I suppose you think you’re “sneaking” in there for a nice mid-day poo, but then you forget to also “sneak” out and instead just fling the door wide open and saunter into the hallway.  Often right into my path.  With your stink trailing behind you.

Yes, I may return your friendly smile and head nod, but make no mistake -  I’m WELL aware that you’ve just finished wiping poo off your ass.  And I am no longer able to view you in a professional capacity for the remainder of the day.  That’s why I sometimes cancel our meetings.  The vivid mental images make it too difficult for me to concentrate.

Please just use the regular men’s washroom. That way your poo breaks are less obvious.

Thanks,

The Only  Girl

Seriously, do you know a male that is discrete about his poo or is it just something they’re not capable of doing?

I just want you to know how much I don’t really like your food.  Well, MOST of the time I don’t really like your food.  Now and then a strange yearning comes over me.  One that quietly whispers “get some fries” in my ear until finally I obey.

But mostly I think of your food as a grease filled, body fat inducing, wallet draining waste of time*.  The rest of my family would strongly disagree.  They feel your food is a life necessity.  A birthright.  An essential service.

So, against my better judgment, we do end up in your drive-thru from time to time. Usually during a brief window between work and a sporting event, or school and music lessons, where there’s simply no time to pop home and cook and we’ve already had subs that week.  Or occasionally on the way home from a shopping excursion where your food was used as a “behave or else” bribe.

And I do always try to take a look in the bag that your pimple faced teen fast food drone pleasant employee hands me to ensure you haven’t screwed up the order.  And I often catch you neglecting one greasy item or another.  But sometimes we’re in a rush, or it’s dark out, and I don’t get to check as thoroughly as I’d like.  This is ALWAYS the time that you screw up.

And by the time the discovery is made, it’s too late to go back.  And someone is upset.  And someone has to share their burger.  And someone else is pissed off that they spent perfectly good money on greasy, fattening food that they didn’t even receive.

So, hear me now Ronald.  I will no longer accept these ordering omissions.  I will sit at your order pick up window for as long as it takes.  And I will go through our bag(s) very thoroughly.  And IF, nay, WHEN I find an omission, I will demand to speak with a Manager.  And I will not leave your pick up window until you’ve rectified the omission and compensated me and my hungry family with complimentary hot fudge sundaes.  Because they are the elixirs of forgiveness.

You’ve been warned!

Sincerely,

The Only Girl

—————–

*I’m excluding your coffee from this conversation btw. I do lovey your coffee!

Dear Large Retail Outlets,

Sometimes I shop at your many locations.  Like when I need groceries, or have to purchase many toys for Christmas.  And I appreciate all your aisles lined with shelves and filled with your wares.  Really, I do.  It’s nice not to have to grow my own produce, raise my own cattle or make all those other frozen, canned and boxed things from scratch.  Really nice.  I’m also happy that I don’t have to whittle toys for my children out of wood or craft something out of rags.  Admittedly, you’re very convenient.  And I enjoy the shopping carts you provide.  It’s so much easier than having to carry everything around the store in my arms.  So for all this, I thank you.

But what you clearly have failed to understand is that the ratio of aisle width to shopping cart width.  Of course I understand your need to fit as many aisles in your store as possible.  More aisles equals more products which should equal more sales.  And larger shopping carts equals more space for customers to fill with stuff which also hopefully equals more sales.  But don’t you see that the two don’t mix?

Only ONE of your big ass carts can get down one of your squeezed in aisles at any given time.  Which results in shopping cart traffic jams.  Which results in frustrated, unhappy customers.

Today I spent more time waiting for the person ahead of me in the aisle to move so I could make my way down the aisle because, obviously, given the current width restrictions in effect, there was no way my cart could possibly pass the other cart.  My grocery shopping took twice as long as it had to this weekend due to all the “cart jams”.

So I implore you.  Bigger aisles or thinner carts.  Something’s got to give.  Or you might have to start employing cart traffic cops to keep an eye on things.  Maybe even traffic lights or right of way signs.  Or maybe I’ll just start shopping on-line more often.

Just a suggestion.

Cher

You are SUCH a bully!  Who, exactly, do you think you are?  Pushing your way into my stores already!  It’s barely October – we haven’t even had Thanksgiving or Halloween yet!  What makes you think you’re better than them?  More important than them?  Well I’ll tell you Sir – You.  Are.  Not.  And I’m certainly not ready for you yet.  In fact, I’m rarely ready for you until the first week of December.  So why don’t you just pack up all your stupid fake trees and cheesy decorations and such and head back to the North Pole!  Where you belong.  Where you can stay till we’re all finished with turkeys and pumpkins and trick or treating.  And maybe then – just maybe – we’ll be ready for you.  Do you hear me?!?!?!  Do you?!

Dear Mr. James Frey,

I’ve been meaning to write you this letter for quite some time.  Unfortunately I procrastinate a lot so I haven’t gotten around to it yet.  Sorry.  But now I have a blog so I figured I could write your letter, turn it into a post and just email you the link, effectively killing 2 birds with 1 stone.  And I’d save on the postage.  A real win-win all around.

I’ve wanted you to know how your book “A Million Little Pieces” changed my life.  No, I wasn’t an addict who found hope and inspiration in the pages.  Nor was I in the publishing industry and learned some valuable lessons from the aftermath of “The Controversy”.  No.  I was simply a girl who didn’t read books.

But back in December of 2005 all I kept hearing about was your damn best selling book.  It was everywhere.  In stores.  On TV.  Even my beloved Oprah wouldn’t stop talking about it.  “ALRIGHT ALREADY!”  I said.  “I guess I’m going to have to read this bloody book so I know what the hell everyone is talking about!  Which is something I had never said before.  Because prior to December 2005 the extent of my reading consisted of the newspaper and one corny Mary Higgins Clark “suspense” novel each year while on vacation.  I know.  I know.

So I did buy your book.  And I couldn’t put it down.  No really – I couldn’t put it down.  And I feel in love with reading.

And just as I was finishing the last quarter of the book “The Controversy” broke.  But I didn’t care.  I had been enjoying that book SO much, that whether the whole damn thing was fabricated or just an insignificant-to-the-overall-plot detail or two was fabricated, it didn’t matter.  Because by then, you had ignited a fire in me.  A fire for the love of reading.

So I finished the book.  Then I read “My Friend Leonard”.  And then I went on to read many, many more really good books.  And I haven’t stopped.  I enjoy getting into bed at the end of the day and disappearing into a good story.  Or relaxing in my living room on a sunny weekend morning with a big cup of coffee and a good book.

So thank you James Frey.  Thank you for giving me the gift of reading.  Because if not for all the fuss about your book, I may still be hanging out with Mary Higgins Clark once a year.

I really hope that things have turned out well for you.  I haven’t bought “Bright Shiny Morning” yet, but I’m going to when I’m done my current book.  And I’m sure I’ll thoroughly enjoy it.

Yours Truly,

Cher

Dear Summer of 2009,

How dare you!  How DARE you!

How dare you come to an end so fast – you only just got going!  I only just started to enjoy you.  And now you’re almost gone.  Shame, shame on you for teasing us like that.  Already your evenings are getting darker earlier, your days are getting cooler and your nights are down right chilly.

Already the “back to school” preparations have begun.  Now don’t get me wrong – back to school isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  Those boys of mine need to get back to a routine, to some structure (especially that younger boy) but please – I implore you!  I’m simply not ready yet.

I’m not ready for all that “back to school” entails.  Never mind the fresh haircuts or shopping for new school supplies, shoes and clothes.  No, no.  I’m referring to getting the house back on a school schedule.  Attempting to wake those boys up early every morning.  Prod them along from getting dressed, to eating a healthy but quick breakfast, to brushing the teeth and hair, to getting their hats, coats, shoes and backpacks out the door on time with minimal nagging or yelling . . . all while trying to get myself ready for work at the same time.

And let’s not forget the evening schedule!  Get home from work.  Eat dinner.  Clean up dinner.  Pack the lunches and snacks.  Go through the backpacks for the vast amount of information that always seems to be sent home from school.  Help with the homework.  Shower/bath the kids as required and get them into bed on time so they’re not too crabby for the next day’s early morning wake up.

Sigh.  Can’t we just have one more month?  I’m simply not ready to face it yet.  Please?

Sincerely,
Your Summer Lovin’ Friend,

Cher