It was a very sensitive situation. Not to mention delicate. Where I work, there are four different offices (businesses) that use the same men's room. In these four offices there are a total of not more than eight men who make use of these facilities.
[quoteright'/>One of those men used these facilities every morning. And I mean he USED them. He engaged in a biological function that had a tendency to turn the air a shade of blue-green, and made it totally unbreatheable.
Then, good energy conscious citizen that he was, he turned out the light when he left.
Now, I'm just as energy conscious as the next guy, and a little more than some, but when that guy turned out the light, he turned off the exhaust fan as well. If you went in there immediately after he left, it wasn't always obvious that he had turned off the lights. The air had a tendency to glow. As soon as you had inhaled your first breath, turned and fought your way out, had CPR administered by the nearest bystander and regained some semblance of consciousness, you became aware that he had turned out the light.
As I said, it was a delicate situation. We were never quite sure who the person responsible for these sessions was. There were plans afoot for a while to keep watch on the men's room, and learn who the party was, and ask him to leave the lights on when he left. How do you do that without embarrassing the poor guy? One guy, who had a cold, volunteered to go in and turn the fan on each time it was discovered that the men's room was in a red-alert condition. He was eagerly accepted to this duty, until we learned that his hair was falling out as a result of his daily contact with our problem.
What to do? All we had to do was get the guy to leave the fan on, and the room was fit for habitation in a minimum of time. How to do it, and not cause hard feelings?
One day the following appeared in the men's room, typewritten and addressed to the world at large:
Perhaps thou hast come here to sit and to think,
and only by happenstance, createth a stink
thinkest thou then, of thine fellow man,
when thou departeth, leave on the fan!
For thou hast the power, to bring us to grief,
thine aroma do poopoo is beyond belief
The enamel doth peel, the plumbing corrode,
the porcelain doth shrivel upon the commode.
So please show thine mercy, if thou must poop here,
and make thineseif famous as a man of good cheer
And as thou dost travel, both hither and yon,
where 'ere thou dost goeth, LEAVE THE FAN ON!
The suspected culprit was heard to chuckle to himself upon one of his excursions to the facility. The light remained on, and the problem was solved.
BILL HARVEY used to submit his material to us with increasingly exorbitant demands for payment. One dollar, five dollars -- who knows where it would have ended? He is now satisfied with mere fame.
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