Day 18

Quick Updates.

So this week at work I'm running a customer inspection of some gear we have manufactured.  It's 19 sections of gear, full of wires, relays, breakers, and some other stuff I still haven't figured out a name for.  I've been here for 2 weeks and 2 days, a majority of which I have spent on a different product line, and they have me ushering the customer through a Factory Acceptance Test here, which feels a lot like someone hired Freddy Kruger to find the needle in the haystack.  Not that I'm biased or anything.  I mean, I love an anal retentive inspector just as much as the next guy...

Grandpa definitely would have had a good phrase to describe my role in this situation--something akin to: "He couldn't find his ass with his own two hands"--but I can't seem to recall the relevant aphorism.  Still, you get the idea.  I've got one or two more days left with the customer, depending on how tomorrow goes (not to be overly optimistic or anything, but my hopes and expectations are teetering just above "rock bottom").  You can expect to hear more about this after the inspection is done, and at that point we can qualitatively evaluate how chapped my backside is.

Switching topics though, I would like to revisit the bathroom conversation we had a while ago.  Specifically the lady who hangs out in the guys bathroom with a mop.  Yesterday I was using the stall, right?  I'll admit it: Montezuma also saw straight through the mustache and has been a vindictive presence in my Mexican life ever since.  But anyways, I'm totally in the stall, and right before I leave said stall (zipping the pants, tucking the shirt, etc), I see a mop sneak under the wall from the adjacent stall, pushing around dirty water a few inches away from where I'm currently standing/zipping/tucking.  I couldn't help but laugh a little and give the mopper my best gringo wink as I walked towards the sinks (see previous diagram... maybe Day 3?).

So today I had to use the restroom again.  Montezuma and I are currently in the process of making up and becoming friends, but I saw the mop bucket accompanied by a much younger mopper, and then quickly chose to use the stall for privacy's sake.  As I'm standing in said stall, I was thinking about my experience the day before, about seeing the mop head suddenly appear and disappear from under the dividing wall of the stall.  And then it happened again, except this time when the mop swept under wall, it actually wiped across my shoe.  I stifled a loud laugh, and maybe probably peed all over the rim of the toilet.  Let's be honest: I definitely peed all over the rim of the toilet.  Which the moppette probably had to clean up afterward.  Is that irony?  Or just terrible hygiene and manners?  Whatever the case, we smiled at each other on the way out, because she probably didn't realize I had just urinated all over the seat she had just cleaned or was about to clean.  But still, I think we shared a moment, however brief.  And next time I enter the bathroom, I suspect she'll be crouched, waiting to assault me with this same dirty mop.  We'll be sharing a different kind of moment then.