Our company moved to a shared office space early this year. When the "W" went missing from the women's restroom sign, the sign sat there like a mysterious OMEN (literally). My fellow engineering nerds found this enormously funny, until a humorless androgynous creature (who I named "Patman" after the Saturday Night Live character) taped on a new "W," apparently not wanting the women's restroom associated with evil.
"Patman"
I spent the next few days taping on a variety of different letters [read Part 1 here], and then decided to up the ante. Going to Super Walmart for supplies, I arrived at work only to find the building engineer had glued on a new plastic W.
Feeling like a new woman.
It didn't look quite right, but it was definitely on there. Short of getting a screwdriver, awl and a hammer, I was screwed. As I looked down in shame, the man/woman who I now called "Patman" walked past me while I stood there holding my Walmart bagged supplies. He/she smiled an evil smile as if to say, "See, we fixed it." She/he had become my nemesis -- all heroes need a nemesis -- and I vowed in that instant to exact revenge at any cost.
Shrugging off defeat, I simply walked to the other women's bathroom on the second floor. To my great delight, the W was not a glued piece of plastic, but a sticky vinyl letter. I attempted to move it and it jumped off the bathroom plaque. The toilet gods were shining on me! I could feel it.
I quickly grabbed the fallen W, turned it 180 degrees forming a character identical to an M, and used the double sided tape to attach a small bottle of TUMS to the end of the sign. I stood back a few feet and marveled at my work.
MOMENTUMS
I took a picture. Phase one was underway. Just then I noticed that I had handicapped the handicap person on the sign. I fumbled with it a bit and got the C shape to stick back on there. That was close.
As each sign was changed, fixed or removed, my plan was to change it to something else. I drink a couple of gallons of coffee, large dosages of protein mixes, and other liquids throughout the day, so my hourly trips to the poop saloon wouldn't appear out of the ordinary. My picture taker thing (technical term) on my cellphone would suffice, so there was no need to carry additional hardware. I was all set.
Forty-five minutes, three cups of coffee, and a Diet Rockstar later (watching my calories), I returned to the scene and found that someone had stolen my TUMS. Either that, or they had fallen off and someone had kicked them on the way into the bathroom. Now I was upset. I knew it had to be Patman bent on ruining my creation. Undeterred, I forged ahead by attaching a G and an N and covering the final N to form the word GNOME. While this was cheating, I thought it made for good humor.
Note: not plural, so only one gnome at a time, please.
Within fifteen minutes, I was hearing laughter erupt sporadically throughout the office. Then finally, Bill, the oversized IT/D&D expert entered my office laughing, and rapidly spewed off something about the women's bathroom. I casually glanced at the new sign as I went to the men's bathroom and saw my masterpiece. I was truly happy in that moment.
Two meetings later and the sign had not changed, which was causing me some angst. I had several tricks to go and very little time to achieve the complete experiment. Patman couldn't have been defeated that easily, could she? I couldn't wait any longer so I gathered the next set of materials, worked my magic with the double-sided tape, and went to work.
Summer in the Midwest is always a time when obese people with a vengeance for barbeque complain about the heat and humidity. I felt that a little reminder of winter would cheer everyone up and cool the hearts of the most obese in our building. SNOMEN was the most likely choice of words, but I wanted to puShakespeare up a notch, so I made a little three-balled snowman who oddly reminded of that chick in Total Recall ... you know the one.
Yes. That one.
As I made my way to the OMEN door, my hands began to shake a little with nerves. I was both excited and scared. I hadn't seen Patman for hours now; who knows where he/she could be lurking?
I worked to pull the little lady figure off the brushed nickel plaque and then had problems. Just like all plastic women, her legs were easy to open, but her upper body was solid. I didn't want to break her in half, so I carefully moved it back and forth. Finally, I got her off, but her little ball-shaped head wouldn't budge. (That's a quadruple entendre, for those keeping score at home.)
The snowman picture went on quick, but I was having to rearrange the previous spelling and the dastardly letters wouldn't stick correctly. I probably looked like Rainman fumbling with his underwear as I fought the S & N letters while making "der" sounds under my breath. Finally, I got it positioned somewhat correctly. I took two steps back and wouldn't you know. Patman walked right out of the bathroom, pulling the tail of a mighty wind right behind her.
As I gagged, she snarled. There was no need to play it cool. I was dying, so I pushed my way into the men's bathroom to vomit. Fortunately, Patman was too caught up in my kung fu aura to even notice the new Sno sign. After two dry heaves and a syrupy cough, I exited the men's bathroom, took my picture, and rushed back to my office.
Lunch that day was very rewarding. The office was abuzz with talk of snowmen and snow angels, and I felt just like Olde Saint Nick. I was bringing smiles to faces and laughter to the hearts of five or six people, and was very happy about it.
More meetings and something resembling actual work pulled me away from my stunts. I was becoming anxious and needed to release the built-up stress by reconfiguring bathroom signs. I rushed out of the last meeting about an hour before closing time and found my way to the bathroom. This time, there was a section missing from the sign.
The poor sign woman who I had gotten off earlier was just lying on the floor motionless, as if she were simply cast aside by uncaring hooligans. I gingerly lifted her back to her place, my rough kung fu hands fumbling with the two-sided tape until I finally got her body back in place. Then I repaired the handicapped handicap. As I smoothed the last pieces of tape in place, the building engineer spoke up behind me. "Thanks," he said, scaring the holy hairlip out of me.
I discreetly put my supplies inside my pocket as he placed a new paper sign above the women's sign. I was in a state of shock as I read the letter that warned of vandalism charges and the Patriot Act. All I could think was, How did we go from a missing "W" to the Patriot Act?
Fortunately, by then I had fulfilled my mission of being the talk of the office -- none of my co-workers, for instance, have ever been threatened with the Patriot Act. And in a funny kind of way, my workplace prank started with an OMEN, and it ended with an omen. Sometimes you've got to love how it all works out.
Next: The Prank Gets Even Bigger!
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