Shower Scenes

If one whiffles the trousers of history, you shall discover many disturbing incidents involving the humble shower. The Germans were guilty of some reprehensible alternate uses during the war, Janet Leigh suffered something sharper than shower gel in Hitchcock’s Psycho and “ if you were privileged enough to attend public school “ one was expected to uncomplainingly endure the repeated rogerings from the Head Boy.

Being a comprehensive lad, thankfully that vignette of education passed me by, but now I’m adding my own “ admittedly somewhat milder “experiences to this pantheon of misery.

Remember last week when the ratio of queue to showers attained the hitherto un-scaled irritation ratio of 10 to 1? The situation was sufficiently dire to inspire the apathetic grumblings of the shower room to take direct action. A torrent of emails bombarded the Facilities help desk with our list of outrages demands including working showers, a non sticky floor, removal of old clothes and dead bodies and “ pushing it a bit “ the occasional refill of the hand towel dispenser.

Our reward was action, well the promise of action anyway which for Facilities (Motto stop whinging, it’s shit for everybody here“) constitutes the same thing. Dusty parts were retrieved from back order, the jet wash hosed down ready for use and a flange of boiler suited engineering types were summarily dispatched into the land of the unshowered. Their promises were legion “ bounteous hot water, non fetid environmentals and a reduced risk of typhoid.

And in the meantime, we bathed in the warm glow of finally getting one over the hidden denizens of our property group. We showed ˜em, they can’t stand up to mass action, typical bullies “ snap like twigs when facing a bit of English backbone. You could almost hear the strains of Jerusalem as we indulged in a bout of metaphoric back slapping. Although that could just have been the onset of post sprout rectal music, you can never be too sure.

The signs of actual activity were all around me this morning. We had a new bin, a strongly worded note re: weapons grade socks and a small patch of cleaned floor. On the downside, they had disconnected the boiler. You see this is their standard response, you ask us how much worse it can get and we’ll show you.

Apparently the boiler has been eaten by one of the carbonised socks which now have taken upright form and show the beginnings of a personality. It’s hard not to cue up a joke about offering them the shower maintenance contract but there’s probably little point. After the bracing nay heart stopping experience of a freezing shower this morning, it’s clear the facilities group are looking to solve the problem more cheaply by simply killing us all.

And I see the weather forecast predicts an onset of wintry conditions layering frosts onto the icy wastes of Aylesbury Vale. Now I was born in Yorkshire, we’re meant to be good in cold conditions but even with the genetic thick skin of my birth, freezing cold showers have pushed me over the edge.

I shall, therefore, be found at my desk naked displaying the message Smelly Non Showered Person Appeal “ Please give generously” on a strategically placed sign .

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