the great, collective comb-over, and other tales from the men’s room
so…at least 75% of the men at work seem to stop at the sink in the bathroom and comb their hair. They may not wash their hands, but they all have a comb in their back pocket.
I don’t think I even have a comb at home. Well, maybe for Sammy, but I’d look a little weird with a 3-inch, white and blue baby comb — definately not in the same league as the big, black Ace.
It must be a generational thing. I don’t think any of my friends use combs….although, I’m more than content not knowing their grooming rituals.
Whenever I see a comb my first though is to find some wax paper, and wail away on a homemade harmonikazoo.
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“Some people call me crazy, some politely call me freak.” — Blues Traveler
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Every day of the work week there is a different paper’s Sunday comics in the men’s room at work.
Seriously, it is like some guy gets a subscription to five different Sunday papers and stockpiles the funnies.
You really can’t be discrete about bringing something into the bathroom to read, at work, if it’s a full color comics page. Can’t act like you’re on your way to a meeting with that…kinda reminds me of the sales guy at my last job that would walk into the john with a copy of the latest Presidential biography or War and Peace.
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Guys at my job have a problem that I like to call “violating enemy air space.”
We all know about the proper urinal spacing (never step up at the urinal next to someone — if you’re not at a ballgame or a concert, wait until there is at least one urinal between you and the next guy). But these guys actually choose to walk into a recently used bathroom stall.
I’m talking bumping into the guy coming out as you’re going in, the toilet is still refulling…
…while there are other empty stalls!
It’s one thing to be a creature of habit, but at least don’t get locked into the same bathroom schedule with someone with the same porcelain preferences