An overworked programmer recounts the foibles of one of his co-workers, a younger, more fashion-forward gentlemen who is otherwise an excellent fellow. It seems, however, that when he goes to the bathroom, it’s pants down around his ankles for pretty much the entire time - standing at the urinal, moving over to the old sink, wiping his hands. The pants only come back up before he leaves, thereby ensuring that the ladies in HR don’t get a glimpse of his BVDs.
An early riser came into his swank new offices in a large New York trading firm. One member of his team - a young man with questionable hygiene to begin with - was already signed into the messaging system so said early riser decided to take a walk. As he approached the cubicle, he heard a strange clicking noise. He poked his nose over and was beset by a sight - and aroma - unspeakable: his teammate had his foot on the keyboard and was clipping his toenails, his sock in a ball next to his mouse, and the strange funk of magic foot wafting up. The horror.
From a major foreign bank in New York we receive word that one member of the IT team has visited the office bathroom on many an occasion and found a young man - or woman - hiding in the stall burping loudly and swearing like a sailor. This image, straight out of Naked Lunch, reminds us that perhaps two Ranch 1 chicken sandwiches and a big Coke does not a healthy lunch make.
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