Class C Poop
I pooped in Class C office space today. Now, from what little I know about the world of commercial real estate in Atlanta, location - rather than condition - often dictates how much a slum lord can charge for companies to pack their lemmings into cubicles. I'm not sure how much they were charging for this location, but I'm guessing that it was too much.
The bathroom environment told the story of southern frat boys that grew up and started a business. Wallpaper that would make Joan Rivers seem young and attractive peeled from every seam and corner. The true color of the marble floors, now browned with age and neglect, was only honestly determined by looking at a small spot in front of the urinal where years of “shaking it off” had periodically deposited enough ammonia to keep the small space comparatively clean. On the sink lay a few glossy postcards from the local Mexican restaurant featuring a bikini-clad trio beckoning me to attend a Cinco De Mayo party that happened a few days ago. I tried to explain that the event had already passed, but the logic was lost on the two dimentional beauties. Maybe they didn't speak much English.
On the wall, an automated pump furiously works to overpower the smells of bodily action with the somewhat less offensive smell of what I’m sure the Dow Chemical Corporation calls FRESH SCENT MOUNTAIN FLOWER #8. The pump activated four times while I was in there, no doubt powered by a tiny Scottish elf working off the cost of his passage to the new world. Whoa, I think the fresh scent mountain flowers are starting to get to me, I’d better finish this up quick.
Big thanks to newsgirlstacy for linking me. It’s quite a compliment coming from a woman who’s had her blog mentioned in an actual book…yeah, a real book with pages and everything Check hers out under my links, it'll make you want to touch your left heel with a blue pen.