I work in the "Plaza" of our building, which is a fancy word for "basement" or "dungeon". We developed a nasty roach problem (see post on why I hate my cube) over the summer, and twice I had roaches DROP FROM THE CEILING ON TO MY DESK, NARROWLY MISSING MY HEAD. We thought we had gotten rid of them, but alas, this morning as I'm typing away, I hear "PLOP" to the left of me. I glance over, knowing what will be there, and yes, it's a roach. Large, brown, & squirming around. Taunting me with his long antennae. I guess some poison had already gotten to him as he was on his back, and looking like he was halfway to the Dirty Gates of roach heaven. Sick, sick, sick, I tell you. Please. Make. It. Stop.
Monday, August 22, 2005
4 Comments:
Ewwwwwww! I could NOT work under those conditions!
Revolt! Revolt!
Oh goody, roach confetti, how FUN!
That is so wrong.
Is L just as disgusted as you are?
No no no no. No ROACHES! Ugh. I would ask for a raise. Ew.
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