(no subject)

[drscott]

From our friend Eric Tooley's blog (the RSS feed from MSN is not working, which we can ascribe to another sinister conspiracy of the Dark Lords of Redmond):

There are two urinals in the Men's room near my desk. One of them overflows from time to time. I know this from personal experience. But unlike a blocked toilet, it's hard to troubleshoot an intermittently-overflowing urinal. It looks fine, and nothing solid (supposedly) goes into it. And so when I previously reported the problem to Facilities a few weeks ago, no action was taken.

So I tried a different tack.

Above the right-hand urinal, I posted the following:

This is the one that overflows
First on your pants and then your toes
The water runs across the floor,
Not to the drain, but to the door!

Not every flush will get you wet,
And that’s why no one’s fixed it yet.
If, by chance, you’ve not begun,
We suggest you use the other one.

Before long, everyone was was chattering about the poem. Friend and fellow writer Ben (from Marketing) was inspired to write a poem praising a prudent choice, which he posted above the full-functioning left-hand urinal (sadly, I don't have a copy, else I'd post it here). But software engineer Don Coolidge put us both to shame with the following masterpiece:

I think that I shall never see
A ur'nal overflow with pee,
For I have read the posted verse
(A warning - crisp, concise, and terse)
And taken it unto my heart.
I now stand left. And when I start
To use that chamber as 'twas meant -
To void a Coke, its essence spent -
Now no Niagra greets my flush;
A moment's Whoosh!, and then a hush
Descends upon that marble hall.
My hands I wash, and that is all,
As, grateful that my shoes are dry,
My task complete, I homeward hie,
And, feeling thankful, think of you
As from the loo I toodle-oo.

However, not everyone took the poems' advice: while I was using the (ahem) "other" facility, someone chose to use the right-hand urinal, and when he flushed, water gushed onto the floor. Needless to say, he didn't pause to wash his hands. I put a sign on the door: "Heed the Poetry!"

And now, the pay-off: the very next day, despite no official complaint through any official channel, a plumber was dispatched and the problem now appears resolved. I could sum up with all sorts of lurid puns and double-entendres, but I'll leave it at this:

The poem is mightier than the plumbing.