theartofmurder.com/blog

The Toilet Paper Contractor

2006-08-17T19:20:00.000-04:00

Whodunit? The Toilet Paper Contractor.

How many office workers does it take to change a light bulb? Well, it doesn't really matter if you work at my place of employment - you wouldn't be able to keep track anyway. But let's make a futile attemt shall we?

The bulb changing process (ceremony? ordeal?) usually starts with an agent or employee complaining to his cubicle neighbor that "gee, it's dark in here." This would be about the time that they both decide to ignore the problem, thus ensuring the continued job security of the local optometrists (none of whom work at our place of business). Eventually, an assistant manager with half a brain will stuble by and, listening to the grumbling of the hapless agents, will actually form a plan of action. They'll go to the office manager who will tell them to talk to the receptionist who, actually knowing what to do, will call me. So that's six people, right? Oh no boys and girls, it's not MY job to change the bulb. My job is to delegate. So I locate the company handyman who must then notify the facilities manager that he's leaving the corporate office to trek over to God knows where using public transportation with God knows which terrorist group on board to get to the darkened office before finding out that they ran out of light bulbs six weeks ago.

These are the trials and tribulations of my new job - or as I like to call it, Adventures in Toilet Paper Contracting.

About a month ago, I accepted a latteral move within the company (i.e. more work with no extra money, but a view out a window if I look down the hall) as a facilities coordinator for our company's fifteen branch offices throughout Manhattan. The above paragraph gives you an idea of what that entails. I knew there would be a lot of s**t to do, but I thought that more figuratively than litterally. Oh, how wrong I was.

My first day on the job was spent preparing a brand new office for opening. Right up until the last minute, we didn't have toilet paper holders in the bathrooms. You can imagine how trying that would be on one's first day. The grand opening would be ruined if the rolls of TP (really, sandpaper on a cardboard tube) had to be put on the floor or on the back of the toilet. Anyway, my job in jeapardy, I frantically called the contractor multiple times until they rushed over, screwed the damn things on the wall and waltzed out just as the first agent reported for duty.

Don't worry, I checked the lights. A-OK.

The day saved, the company not at risk of falter, I thought my toilet paper holder experiences were behind me. But, of course, that was awfully naive of me. They were just beginning.

Would you believe it, and I swear I'm not making this up, the very next week we were having a grand re-opening party for one of our recently renovated offices and, you guessed it, one of the items on my 12 pages of to-dos was to have the contractor come in and install a toilet paper holder in a new bathroom they had put in. Now, I don't know all that much about building bathrooms, but I would guess that toilet paper holders are pretty standard. Why is it so hard to put them in, then??

Above image: A TP Holder almost identical to something very nearly similar to the ones used in our offices.

So I find myself once again on the telephone with the contractor. Job in jeapardy. Grand (re) opening. Need toilet paper holder ASAP.

I'm promised it will be done. I have nothing to worry about. Fortunately, we have a few days to finish the job.

In the meantime, I'm inspecting office number 14 on the upper west side. Picture it. Ground floor restroom. I take a look at the toilet paper holder. Something's wrong! It's missing that cheap plastic spinny bar thing that goes in the middle. UGH. Off to the hardware store. "Hi, I need a cheap plastic spinny thing that goes in the middle of a toilet paper holder." "No problem," says the unflinching clerk. "They're right over here." Crisis averted.

But back to the other office. Day of the party. The contractor installed the toilet paper holder the night before. But UH-OH. He has installed it too far away from the toilet and when the door is opened, it hits the toilet paper holder.

How they couldn't have seen this, I don't know. I expect they didn't care. It was just about this point that I didn't care anymore either. Let them fire me.

But of course I call the contractor back. I'm OWED a correctly installed toilet paper holder. "Don't worry," I'm told. "We'll get it fixed right away," they said. That was last Wednesday.

Today they came to fix it. "Yay", I think. Something I can cross off my list. Something I can list on my resume: successfully coordinated the installation of a toilet paper holder. So I head up to that office on a totally unrelated matter and decide to take a look the fruits of my labor. I open the bathroom door... It clears the toilet paper holder by a smidgen of an inch. Hallelujah! But wait... where's the toilet paper? UH-OH.... If you can't see where this is going, you may qualify to be a contractor. They door barely clears the holder. An EMPTY holder. I put the roll of toilet paper on and... yup. Door hits it.

Thank God tomorrow is Friday.

The Crazy Architect

2006-05-26T19:53:00.000-04:00

Whodunit? The Crazy Architect.

But don't count on me figuring it out... I'd never make a good detective. An architect, maybe. When I was young, countless hours of playing with legos inspired me to want to design homes. But never would I have dreamt up this bizarre creation:

Do you feel like this is Highlights magazine and your searching for "What's wrong with this picture?" If you haven't found it, look closer at the roof on the darker brown house... What's up with that?! It's not real! Just a facade. I can only imagine why somebody would do that. Did the owners not have enough money for a full roof? Did they all of a sudden get jealous of the Jones' big red roof that they felt the need to keep up?

As I said, I'd never fill Columbo's shoes. Not even Mr. Monks... Isn't it funny how you can walk by something everyday and just all of a sudden out of the blue notice it? Or maybe you don't... That's me assuming. Again, probably not a great detective skill.

I guess I'll still be headed back to the day job first thing next week... right past Crazy House.

My Trip Down the Stairs

2006-05-22T12:55:00.000-04:00

Whodunit? I did it to myself... but I'm blaming the apartment building. I think I'm gonna sue.

There's a hand rail for a reason.

'nuff said.

Well, not quite. Not only did I about kill myself on the stairs, but later I hit my thigh really hard on the equally hard wooden corner of the sofa leaving a hugh black and purple bruise. I haven't bruised in years! Even later, I smashed my finger in between a soap dispenser and it's lever which was quite painful as well. Who can I sue for that?? Where's the compensation for my physical and emotional distress?! Surely I'm not expected to take personal responsibility...

The Class of '96

2006-05-19T15:53:00.000-04:00

Whodunit? Classmates! ...and did they do it better than me??

How very strange that just yesterday I was pondering the whereabouts of my highschool best friend when lo and behold... today I get an email invitation to my 10 year highschool reunion! Can somebody tell me what this sharp stabbing sensation is in the pit of my stomach? I'm thinking of dialling 9-1-1...

There's nothing like a good old highschool reunion to let you know that you're getting old. Not only that you're getting old, but you've seemed to have stalled on the highway of life while your former classmates tear past in their Mercedes SLK convertibles with the wind blowing their perfectly coifed hair on their way to "the Malibu estate".

Actually, taking a look at the Alumni page of the Rochester Rockets it doesn't look like anybody lives in Malibu! In fact, it doesn't look like too many people escaped central Illinois. I can't blame them though... Last year I went to a pumpkin farm for a festive fall day of fun and decided to try out their corn maze. Let me tell you... all those stalks look the same and it only takes a few minutes to totally lose track of the way out!

Illinois has 11.3 million acres of corn!

But I guess I haven't done too horribly for myself. I don't think I'll ever open my own B&B as I thought I would when I was in high school - I'm not sure I'd ever really want to do that anymore anyway. I wonder how many people really are doing what they thought they would have back then? In any case, I'm sure I didn't live up to the most likely to succeed vote, but I suppose that success in life is purely subjective. I'm pretty happy. Well, content perhaps. Bored as hell a lot... but content nonetheless. If only I could get people to play a nice rousing game of Clue every once in a while... then... then life would be perfect!

Sarah and the Felafel Vendor

2006-05-18T22:21:00.000-04:00

Whodunit? Was it the Felafel Vendor?

Another dreary, rainy day in New York City. Well, that's not exactly true. It only started raining right before the commute home and ended as soon as I dragged my drenched body through the door of the apartment. Life is like that. But allow me to back track just a bit. The rainy weather may have been the perfect backdrop for murder, but for romance? Maybe there was something in the air (in NYC, what ISN'T...)? Maybe it was the thrill of standing beneath the ever-present scaffolding surrounding the Flat-Iron building breathing in the bus fumes? No. I'm sure it was the utter titilation of waiting for the Felafel vendor to dish up their delicious dinner that caused a young couple to block the path right in front of me while they made out. Not just an innocent kiss, but a full on sucking of the face leaving me no option but to wait for them to either pass out from lack of oxygen, or back track around the scaffolding through the rain to get by. Why is it that people are so, "look at me!"? Why do I hope they choked on the chickpeas?

Whodunit? Maybe it was Sarah?

Did anybody catch the finale of Will and Grace? It really struck a cord with me. So sad. Junior High and High School Sarah and I were nearly inseperable. Very Will and Grace. Then in college we began to drift apart. Now, I haven't talked to her in a couple years. I send her postcards every once in a while, but never hear back from her. Sarah, if you're out there, I miss you and think of you often. I will always love you!

Evil Neighbor

2006-05-16T20:45:00.000-04:00

Whodunit? I did! And I don't care...

Why are people so passive aggressive? Why am I one of them?
The guy who lives in #6 of our building right below us needs to be
hurt. He's a chain smoking, loud music playing jerk who bought the
same Ikea door mat that we did. I point this out because I can't
walk past his door like I do each and every day without thinking how
much I wish the building would burn down so I could be rid of him. I
hate him and the nasty smell that emanates from his apartment. But
most of all, I CAN NOT STAND the loud music he plays. Granted, it's
not all the time, but when he does, it's like a fly buzzing around
your head - constantly there in the background... and you can't do
anything about it. Well, I guess that's not true. I guess I could
always go down and knock on his door and politely ask him to turn his
grungey punk music down. But is that like me? No.

I tried turning up my own music. We've recently bought a Bose system
for out living room that gets pretty thumpy thumpy. I turn it as
loud as I'm comfortable, but the fly is still buzzing. And guess
what?! He has the nerve to turn his blasted music UP! Ooooh... the
war's on, baby! So I take the subwoofer and the speakers and place
them face down on the floor, crank up the dial with a little
thunderous Vivaldi and leave the room. It only took a few
minutes... hehehe. I win.

One day I'll have to meet the man downstairs...

Welcome

2006-05-15T09:29:00.000-04:00

My ramblings in this blog will attempt to answer that infamous question that hearkens as far back as Cain and Able... although it was much easier then... Whodunit?!

In the meantime while we don our deerstalker's cap and excercise our little gray cells... play Clue!

I'll meet you in the Billiard Room. Bring the rope.