Everyone in my office is really sleepy today. "Maybe there's something in the air. Like..." "ASBESTOS!" I yelled. **silence, gentle snort**
You see there's something absurdly attractive about conspiracy theories to me. And working in a cubicle-esque fortress of file cabinets and badly veneered office structures only lends to the idea that Mr.Man is out to get you. Couple this with the fact that said office is that of a big southerny university with all kinds of glistening administrative red-tape and you've got yourself a class A nutcase.
I jump at every chance to point out the lingering asbestos planted and/or ignored in a malicious ploy to kill off capricious office rebels that sometime come to work smelling like armpits or wearing little boy's plaid shirts from GoodWill that seemed to cover the bellybutton at the time.
Maybe I choose Asbestos because they're so damned vintage.
Yes, that's it.
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