The very next day I needed to use the office restroom. When I entered the territory I had noticed that the fan had been turned on (a clear sign that something terrible had just occurred). I approached the chair with caution and found that not only had the toilet been clogged and backed up with sluggish liquid to the brim, but the floor had small, off-colored pools surrounding the bowl like disgusting, fluid land mines protecting Hitler’s bunker. The plunger stood next to it like the step child no one pays attention to, cold and sadly unused. I went back into the main office, having not been able to use the facilities, and walked the halls to see who was responsible for the act and what, if anything, they were doing to remediate it. To my disgust (but not surprise) I found everyone working at their desks, typing away at emails and talking to nobody in particular on the phones. No one was running for paper towels. No one was searching for disinfectant that was surely never purchased. No one was doing a damn thing to clean up the disaster in the men’s room! I knew who the culprit was of course, through process of elimination but I did not call them out. I honestly wasn’t sure what I would have said. “Clean up your shit!” would have been appropriate but for some reason it sounded foolish in my head. So, having worked in maintenance during previous employment, I found a pair of gloves, fixed the clog, and cleaned up the mistake left by someone else. Just like my drawing had predicted.