We've got this bloke at work who, not to put too fine a point on it, takes the piss. He's out of the door on the dot of 5 no matter what he's working on and he's always got something to say about everything discussed in the office.
I can just about live with this, but he's got a habit which proper rubs me up the wrong way. He goes to the toilet, every day, bang on 1 o'clock when his lunch hour is over. The company is effectively paying him to have a cack, and I think it's a disgrace.
It's been something of an in-joke between a couple of us in the department, labelling this clockwork occurrence as 'stool time', but in all seriousness, it just goes to show that he doesn't give a monkey's about the company and is out to get all he can from it.
So we decided to get our own back.
At quarter to one the other day, my colleague (under my duress it has to be stated, for fairness' sake) nipped into the bogs and locked the doors from the outside, giving the illusion there was no room at the inn. The doors were locked, the trap (no pun intended) was set and we sat back to enjoy the magic.
He did not disappoint.
Seconds after he'd gone for his daily and unnaturally well-timed ablutions he was back, asking us if we knew what the problem was in the toilets. Apparently both cubicles were occupied, which is quite a rare event according to him. Luckily for me I'm hidden behind from this guy so my childish giggling went unnoticed, but then my colleague (in full view) corpsed and for a second I thought the game was up. Fortunately it wasn't, and I lived to tell the tale.
The thing is, it proved beyond any doubt that he is taking the piss. If he was that desperate he would've gone to the bog upstairs. Serves him right, says I, and I hear on the grapevine that further 'attacks' are scheduled to fully ram the point home.
I'm 30 years old, by the way.
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