Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Reason enough to quit

Everyone has his or her reasons for hating elevators. The uncomfortable silences or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, the uncomfortable small talk about the weather or whose kids are doing well in Little League. Boring, painful, and needless chit-chat. An elevator ride lasts what, all of 30 seconds? Maybe 1-2 minutes if you work/live in a really tall building? And yet some people feel the need to talk through the whole thing, because a few seconds of silence is apparently a horrifying prospect. That used to be my biggest pet peeve about elevators. Until now.

Someone has been spitting in the corners of the elevators here at work. And not just some random popcorn-stuck-in-my-teeth-and-I'm-trying-to-get-it-out spitting either. Some individual with the social graces of dirt has been hawking up some big ol' phlegm wads and spitting them in the corners of the elevators. And leaving them there to dry. If you look in the corners of the elevators of the Blanton Building on the SMU campus, you'll find some lovely ovals of dried human mucus. Seriously...WTF?!? Referring back to the short span of an elevator ride, you can't hold your damn snot in until you reach a floor with a bathroom? Goddamn, it's sick. And it's not like I work with a bunch of teenagers here. The majority of people I work with are 10-20 years my senior. And yet we have a serial spitter.

I have a sneaking suspicion who it may be. There's a man who works on my floor (we'll call him Count Plegmenstein (silent g)) who apparently has been smoking 3-4 packs a day for the last 40 years, judging by the Herculean hacks and coughs he spews all over the place. He's a mixed-bag of fun noises and habits. Many times I've been in the restroom, answering nature's call or washing up after, and he's come in wheezing like an organ with a hole in the bellows. He comes in and sets down his full gallon cup (!; I shit you not), and proceeds to perform his daily ablutions. At the public restroom sinks. And boy does he get into it. He juts his ass out in the air as he leans his entire forearms on the counter. He turns on the water from both taps to full blast, and proceeds to splash water all over his face as though trying to sober himself up, all the while hacking and coughing like he's on the edge of death. And that's not an exaggeration. Many times have I listened to those grunts and groans of his, thinking he's either going to throw up or pass out. I don't have a weak stomach in the slightest, but it makes even me a little nauseous. Then he brushes his teeth. When he's done with his little bath, he then yanks towel after towel after towel out of the dispenser and finally heads out the door. Still coughing and wheezing. Some of those coughs definitely sound like the coughs of the Serial Elevator Phlegmist. (*Note to Self - Start band called Serial Elevator Phlegmist)(*Note to Self Part Deux - Learn to play an instrument)

Anyway, it's really nasty, and I don't feel I should have to suffer through it alone.

On a side note, how hardcore do you have to be to be labeled as Party Guy on Paris Hilton's address book? An address book which includes Lindsay Lohan and Ashley Olson?


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