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.
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