It’s no secret that my workplace is a complete joke. Those of you who follow my personal facebook know just how horrifying it is on a daily—if not hourly—basis. When I’m confronted with an outrageous circumstance or laughably inane interaction, the first thing I do is reach for my iPhone so I can tell everyone about it. It’s not just mistakes that are too good not to share, it’s also the evidence of other people’s stupidity, entitlement, or absurdity.
Every so often, something will happen that is beyond my ability to summarize in a Facebook status. It’s the equivalent of standing in awe but instead of standing, I am banging my head against a wall and instead of awe it is fear for the future of humanity.
A couple weeks ago I introduced you to Trash Cake—the housekeeper who ate a slice of cake she found in a trashcan after it’d been uncovered and unrefrigerated for a week. A part of me truly felt concern for her intestinal tract, but she’s clearly accustomed to fighting off disease and parasites, as evidenced by her toilet-cleaning technique:
Step One: Take the same rag you used yesterday
Step Two: Dip this rag into toilet water
Step Three: Clean toilet with toilet water
Step Four: Leave toilet water droplets all over the seat
They’ve tried to correct her behavior but anytime they address one thing, they make a new discovery—like how the vacuum she used in our offices had a broken belt for weeks but when they went to repair it, they realized it didn’t even have a bag. For the most part, she’d been maintaining the same degree of ridiculous as everyone else, but last week she took it to a whole new level.
For Memorial Day, the hospital organized a cookout for the patients, grilling burgers, slicing watermelon, and tossing frisbees. Several pounds of meat had been leftover and shoved to the back of the cooler, where it went on to become freezer burned. Last Monday our health nurse discovered the ruined meat and threw it in the dumpster behind the building.
Enter Trash Cake.
It’s beyond anyone’s knowledge how she became aware of the discarded meat in the first place, but on Wednesday afternoon a trail of blood was discovered running from the back door of the building all the way to the exit near the parking lot. It looked as though someone had been mortally wounded and yet managed to sprint their way to freedom.
This mystery might have gone unsolved if it weren’t for the fact that Trash Cake couldn’t fit the bloody and leaking box of meat into the back of her trunk. A Security officer stopped to help her, but had to back away when he smelled the scent of meat that’d been sitting in the summer heat for two days.
“It’s for my dog,” Trash Cake insisted.
“You can’t feed that to a dog, it’ll kill it.”
She continued shoving the box until it finally fit. By the time she went back inside, an intervention had been staged. We explained how meat in that condition was unsafe to handle, let alone feed to your dog, but she shooed away our doubts. We then implored her to not commit such cruelty against animals, to which she finally snapped:
“I don’t even have a dog, okay.”
I’m not sure if that was supposed to make us feel better, but it certainly didn’t. She won out in the end and carted the infested box of death meat back to her home. We all worried she’d become violently ill and miss the rest of the week but she’s yet to use a single day of sick leave. Maybe Trash Cake is a living testament to the philosophy that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Do you have any tales of rotten meat? What’s the most unhygenic practice you’ve witnessed at a workplace? What sorts of things do you hold back from posting on social media?
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