A disproportionate amount of tension is caused by communal space terrorists every day in workplaces around the world. These dirty dawgs treat any shared area with the kind of respect one would show a reality TV star at a career expo.
All the best slobs have an impeccable ability to strike when no one is watching. These swine happily live in the grey area of circumstantial evidence. They are never caught in the act, say, for example, pouring milk like a fuckwit and getting it all over the kitchenette bench.
Similarly, they’ll never label their disgusting tubs of decaying food matter that sit in the fridge like a Goldeneye proximity mine of food poisoning. Everyone knows exactly who it is but without solid proof, all that can be done is subjecting everyone to passive-aggressive emails and notes.
They aren’t shy about all their disgusting habits though. Watch one walk into the break room and disrespect the joint with a steaming plate of tuna mornay. Try to enjoy your sandwich while sitting in a room so funky Bruno Mars will try to write a song about it.
After they’ve left the breakroom stinking like a mermaid’s yeast infection, they’ll dump their bowls and reusable coffee cups in the sink for someone else to clean. It’s always the perfect crime when you don’t give a shit about others.
Perhaps their most gruesome work, however, is conducted in communal toilets. It’s like they are waging a vindictive campaign of guerrilla warfare and the Geneva Convention is out the damn window.
Anyone who has walked into a toilet and pondered in disgust how stains got on certain walls will know the feeling. It’s hard to tell sometimes whether someone had to take a shit or whether they helped a cow birth twin calfs on the bathroom floor.
Missing the bowl is one thing but a bathroom bandito has more tricks up their sleeves. For example, taking the communal newspaper with them to help soak in all those lovely scents of their arse-orchestra. Or perhaps, you’ll walk into the thick stank of a recently finished wank.
Hell is sharing a workplace with these “people”.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?