Work is better with water
Sep. 15th, 2011 10:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phoenix4After shivering my way from the parking garage at work this morning, a cup of hot tea sounded like an excellent start to my day. While I was waiting for the coffee machine to trickle hot water in my cup, our HR guy came in to get a glass of ice water (we have a separate little machine that does nothing but make ice and cold water, and dispense it into your cup). He got the ice, but no water. No water in the breakroom sink either.
I suggested that he try the water fountains on the other side of the building and headed back to my desk. I have good tea bags in my desk drawer, because something about the water at work makes Lipton taste like crayon water. As I approached the windows by my cubicle, I glanced out and saw water sparkling. Huh, I thought. The road by the building really looks wet, but it stopped raining at eight last night.
We're five stories up, but there are several very tall oak trees and a de-construction area between us and the street outside, where the company is tearing down a bunch of one-story buildings to make way for a green area. I moved to the right, my attention caught by the large area of standing water in the field across the street where I knew there were no water features the day before. And then I saw the water fountaining up at the corner and flooding a foot deep across the road. Yep, water main break.
Several things in a business office besides human beings need water to work properly. Like toilets. And sinks. And coffee machines. In a six-story building full of people with no access to caffeine or working bathroom facilities. This was going to get ugly fast. I grabbed the chance to use the restroom while there were still a couple clean toilets, since I had a big bottle of hand sanitizer at my desk. So what do I do when I'm done? Walk over, stick my hand under the soap dispenser for a good squirt, then stick my hands under the hands-free faucet. Yep.
Idiot. It must be the same ingrained habit that makes people flip light switches on when the power is out. I toweled the soap off my hands as best I could, then used copious amounts of hand sanitizer to get the rest off so I could work. Because of course, they wouldn't send us home for something like this.
Two hours in and water is still pouring onto the street, but several trucks from the water utility have arrived. I'm starting to plan my lunch around a place with decent bathrooms, when our Coordinator comes by to ask a question. He is completely amazed when I tell him about the water issue; he hadn't noticed. (To be fair, he's allergic to caffeine, so he doesn't drink coffee or tea.) It's working fine, he says, then looks out my window where the utility workers have started to flush the main out through the fire hydrants.
As soon as he walked away I made a beeline for the bathroom. Ah, relief.
Strange how we can get dependent on such a relative luxury as running water. When I was fifteen, we spent the winter in an old farmhouse with frozen pipes. My mom and I carried five-gallon buckets of water from the well pump into the house all winter long until the spring thaw. Way to develop an appreciation for doing dishes and taking a bath without the extra step of hauling February-cold water and heating it on the stove. Someone said once that civilization is only three meals away from breakdown. I'd have to add that it's also about three toilet flushes away as well.
I suggested that he try the water fountains on the other side of the building and headed back to my desk. I have good tea bags in my desk drawer, because something about the water at work makes Lipton taste like crayon water. As I approached the windows by my cubicle, I glanced out and saw water sparkling. Huh, I thought. The road by the building really looks wet, but it stopped raining at eight last night.
We're five stories up, but there are several very tall oak trees and a de-construction area between us and the street outside, where the company is tearing down a bunch of one-story buildings to make way for a green area. I moved to the right, my attention caught by the large area of standing water in the field across the street where I knew there were no water features the day before. And then I saw the water fountaining up at the corner and flooding a foot deep across the road. Yep, water main break.
Several things in a business office besides human beings need water to work properly. Like toilets. And sinks. And coffee machines. In a six-story building full of people with no access to caffeine or working bathroom facilities. This was going to get ugly fast. I grabbed the chance to use the restroom while there were still a couple clean toilets, since I had a big bottle of hand sanitizer at my desk. So what do I do when I'm done? Walk over, stick my hand under the soap dispenser for a good squirt, then stick my hands under the hands-free faucet. Yep.
Idiot. It must be the same ingrained habit that makes people flip light switches on when the power is out. I toweled the soap off my hands as best I could, then used copious amounts of hand sanitizer to get the rest off so I could work. Because of course, they wouldn't send us home for something like this.
Two hours in and water is still pouring onto the street, but several trucks from the water utility have arrived. I'm starting to plan my lunch around a place with decent bathrooms, when our Coordinator comes by to ask a question. He is completely amazed when I tell him about the water issue; he hadn't noticed. (To be fair, he's allergic to caffeine, so he doesn't drink coffee or tea.) It's working fine, he says, then looks out my window where the utility workers have started to flush the main out through the fire hydrants.
As soon as he walked away I made a beeline for the bathroom. Ah, relief.
Strange how we can get dependent on such a relative luxury as running water. When I was fifteen, we spent the winter in an old farmhouse with frozen pipes. My mom and I carried five-gallon buckets of water from the well pump into the house all winter long until the spring thaw. Way to develop an appreciation for doing dishes and taking a bath without the extra step of hauling February-cold water and heating it on the stove. Someone said once that civilization is only three meals away from breakdown. I'd have to add that it's also about three toilet flushes away as well.
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