Construction abounds at my workplace these days – a remodel on the office suites, new sidewalks and outside stairs…even the parking and curbs are getting face lifts. And as would be expected, this makeover is accompanied by some of the best people in most social circles: stained shirts and skin, butt cleavage, green cards and black teeth. These guys can be found at any given time, standing about “discussing the project” while expelling copious amounts of second-hand smoke.
Sitting at my desk just inside the glass fronted door, I began to feel a tickle in my throat and noticed an irritating cough working its way through my chest. After a few moments, I realized that it was because a small gaggle of these guys had parked just outside the security door, propping it all the way open with a large plastic paint bucket. The smoke was wafting directly into my cubicle and causing my respiratory upset.
I politely walked over to the guy in charge, standing among his employees, happily puffing away. I explained my dilemma to which he jumped immediately in to action.
“Oh!” He explained, smoking butt dangling from his burnt bottom lip (how he wasn't catching the scruff of his beard on fire was beyond me), “Let me remedy that for you.”
He grabbed the large plastic bin as I walked back through the doorway. I heard it scrape across the ground then stop prematurely.
As I sat in my seat, I looked back. He had moved the bucket only a minute distance, closing the door only partially. The aroma circled my head like a buzzard, my nose swelling shut with every breath. Good thing he helped me out.