Well, through the combined powers of positive thinking and old-fashioned emotional repression, I�ve managed to make the last nine out of ten entries not about how much my job is poisoning my soul like a deadly fungus spreading across the rotting stump of a once mighty oak! Clearly, I am on the road to a healthier outlook on life, what with my abnegation of pessimistic ideologies.

What I am not on the road to is an enlightened understanding of assholes who don�t know how to knock on the bathroom door before trying to yank it open and let themselves inside. It is extremely unsettling, to put it mildly, to be minding one�s own business on the commode, and then have the door start rattling and shaking on its hinges as what sounds like a FBI raid tries to gain immediate access. One�s chi is liable to become apoplectic as a fear begins to set in that the person on the other side of the flimsy, corrugated balsa wood door might just not take �locked� for an answer, and actually try to kick it down, A-Team style, and reveal you in all your self-relieving glory.

Is it honestly that taxing, emotionally and or physically, to bring one�s knuckles to the door once or twice before barreling on through like the bulls at Pamplona? I have to imagine it could at worst only be equally as draining as the furious and futile tugging at a locked knob that one would otherwise obviate. The door isn�t made out of tempered steel, either, you know. No one I know has ever broken a limb by knocking.

Of course, the people in this company seem to suffer from an acute procedural ignorance when it comes to The Knock. The other day I encountered a closed door at the restroom and, wishing to demonstrate my own well-developed civility, I knocked gently (but firmly) at the door. Rather than receiving one of the only two responses one ever expects in such situations (some variation on "occupied", or a hollow silence), I heard a voice respond, "Who is it?" And then after a profoundly confused moment, the door opened, and a woman poked her head out at me. "Yes?" She asked, sweetly. "What do you need?"

What do I need? Is this a trick question? I need a toilet, for fuck�s sake! What, is she living in there? What�s with actually answering the door? I was so tremendously confused, I was at a complete loss for words. I mumbled something about just needing to use the restroom, and she looked a little surprised and confused, like this was a totally unexpected response. Like she�d thought I came to the bathroom specifically to ask her about something. I seriously think she might have invited me in for pie and coffee, if the bathroom had any other places to sit (than just the obvious, I mean). It also made me wonder how she might respond to a Knock Knock joke:

Me: Knock knock!

Her: Come in!

It is the deficit of these simple social graces, the profound cultural apathy and pigheaded unwillingness to learn from past examples that inflames my frustrations on a daily basis. Do I need to teach a course on basic knock-matics? Do I need to start posting signs that guide people, via instructional pictography, how to employ The Knock, like those helpful Heimlich Maneuver placards? How many doors must a man not knock on, only to flush with embarrassment and flee the room when he subsequently finds it locked, before HE LEARNS HIS FUCKING LESSON ONCE AND FOR ALL???

Okay, I feel better now. I just needed to get all of that out of my system, and now I�ll be fine. Er�knock on wood.

Someone Got Here By Searching For: kirstie alley skinny pictures I�m Watching: The Amazing Race. "Colin and Christie? You�re the first team to arrive. But you�re a couple of jackasses and nobody likes you so you�re eliminated anyway." It�s a beautiful dream. I�m Almost Done With: The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, and it�s about time.

my last adventure: On Salad Ground
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my next adventure: Potluck o' the Irish