It started out innocently. At first, when you stuck your hands under the faucet, the water wouldn’t turn on, so you had to thrust your hands forward and back a few times like you were spinning a record on an imaginary turn table. You didn’t think much of it. You were used to little annoyances around your office, like that tall guy named Kevin who always hovers over your desk and sniffles loudly, so what was one more thing?
Then things took a turn for the worse. When Patty from down the hall splattered mustard on your shirt in the break room and you went to rinse it off, the faucet wouldn’t turn on at all. You waved your hands under it in every possible direction and at every possible speed. You danced around the sink. You even swung your foot up there, because, why not? Still, nothing. Finally, you lowered your head into the bowl to get a closer look. Of course, just when you were at eye level with the faucet, boom. That fucker shot a stream of water straight into your eyeball.
But that’s not even the worst part. After you regained your vision, you called maintenance and asked them to deal with that bastard. They asked you to please fill out a ticket. You said, “I just told you the problem. Can you just fix it please?” They said they understood that, but please fill out a ticket in the online system. You filled out the ticket.
Three months later, when maintenance came to fulfill your ticket request, your old friend put on a show. When the maintenance man lowered his hand into the sink, the water streamed out in a steady blast. When he pulled his hand away the water stopped.
“Well, it seems to be working,” the man said.
Then he left and it was just you and the faucet alone. Again. Then the faucet soaked your crotch with a jet of cold water. As you cursed and blotted at your pants with wadded up paper towels, the faucet just laughed and laughed.
