(no subject)

In the basement of this building, there is a conference room. It is a nice conference room, with a large table and comfy chairs, and, most importantly, it does not seem to be home to any interdimensional or otherwise occulted beasties with tentacles, gaping maws, no particular sort of face, etc. I appreciate that.

But next to it, there is a bathroom. It is a three-stall bathroom painted a pinkish shade of putty. It is unassuming, and should be unalarming. And yet. Every time I go in the bathroom, I am moved to investigate all three stalls before doing my business, to make sure there are no masked killers, deranged monkeys, or unstable clowns with sharp implements hidden within. It's just the atmosphere of the place.

So today, I go in, I check the stalls, I take a piss, all seems well. And then, I look down at my feet. To the right of my right foot, there is an ashy smear. It is about an inch and a half long, and sort of cigar-shaped, with approximately seven bazillion little smearlets coming off of it like legs. It looks like someone has toasted a house centipede (that's a Five-Bugs-Fucking Bug in our house, for those who are keeping track). In fact, at first I thought it was a centipede, and the idea that I had dropped trou next to one of those Atomic Mutants was untenable. But no, just a smear. A sort of ... tentacled smear.

It was then that I began to think of jackbabalon23, and his recent story about Adam Last vs. The Greasy Spot On The Wall. Not good. What to do? I briefly considered scooping it off the floor and feeding it to the philodendron in my office. Could be interesting, but might be Bad. I settled for dropping a seal on top of it, followed by a liberal amount of tapwater. Ick, I say. Ick.

(no subject)

In the basement of this building, there is a conference room. It is a nice conference room, with a large table and comfy chairs, and, most importantly, it does not seem to be home to any interdimensional or otherwise occulted beasties with tentacles, gaping maws, no particular sort of face, etc. I appreciate that.

But next to it, there is a bathroom. It is a three-stall bathroom painted a pinkish shade of putty. It is unassuming, and should be unalarming. And yet. Every time I go in the bathroom, I am moved to investigate all three stalls before doing my business, to make sure there are no masked killers, deranged monkeys, or unstable clowns with sharp implements hidden within. It's just the atmosphere of the place.

So today, I go in, I check the stalls, I take a piss, all seems well. And then, I look down at my feet. To the right of my right foot, there is an ashy smear. It is about an inch and a half long, and sort of cigar-shaped, with approximately seven bazillion little smearlets coming off of it like legs. It looks like someone has toasted a house centipede (that's a Five-Bugs-Fucking Bug in our house, for those who are keeping track). In fact, at first I thought it was a centipede, and the idea that I had dropped trou next to one of those Atomic Mutants was untenable. But no, just a smear. A sort of ... tentacled smear.

It was then that I began to think of jackbabalon23, and his recent story about Adam Last vs. The Greasy Spot On The Wall. Not good. What to do? I briefly considered scooping it off the floor and feeding it to the philodendron in my office. Could be interesting, but might be Bad. I settled for dropping a seal on top of it, followed by a liberal amount of tapwater. Ick, I say. Ick.