Unclean! Unclean!

I work in a large, enclosed office, you see. That's the problem.

I'm currently typing away on my computer at work, wearing rubber gloves, my jacket, and one of those face masks that painters wear to protect themselves from fumes. Now, to deflect those of you whose knee-jerk reaction would be to yell, "Freak!" let me assure you: I am indeed a freak. But this isn't why. This is a safety measure

See, my boss came to work today with a red, swollen eye, saying he felt like crap. He would have called in sick, but he’s out of Personal Time Off (that’s our twisted, New Age version of Sick time, Vacation hours, and holidays all rolled into one. Glee.) So, since he doesn’t get paid unless he’s here, he’s here…and possibly with PINKEYE!

So, great, I think to myself. He can’t leave because he’s got to get paid. I can’t leave because the ladies in our finance department would laugh themselves sick while docking my pay if I told them I was leaving because my BOSS was sick. So, I grab the sterile gear, and I figure I’m good to go.

Not so much. As it turned out, my face mask that painters use to protect themselves from fumes turned out to be really useful, because they painted the halls this morning and the whole place stinks like, well…I’m sure you can figure out the rest. Anyway, maintenance decides that the solution to this problem is to air the place out, so they open ALL the doors to the outside to create a nice breeze throughout the place. However, they have failed to remember that this means that all the warm air will be blown out, too, making it nice and chilly all through the first floor. Their offices are on the second floor, though, so they’ve been able to keep the matter in perspective all day while I freeze. This means I had to wear my huge, heavy trench coat to ward off the chill and a black handkerchief on my head to keep the wind from blowing my hair all over God’s creation.

Let’s recap. Black do-rag, black Trench coat, rubber gloves, and a facemask. I can’t decide whether this ensemble screams “paranoid hypochondriac” or “sociopaths serial killer.” Either way, when the head of our public relations department came into my office and said, “Josh, I’d like you to meet the new PR intern, Melissa,” I did not make a good first impression. In fact, I think I scared her to death. I personally think I peeled off the gloves with some degree of grace and removed the facemask with some level of dignity, but she still treated my handshake like someone had suggested she pet a dead cat.

Wow. And to think, I came to work freshly shaved, groomed, and attired. Obviously.