Yes, that is a broken pipe.
Sooo...today is a national holiday for Martin Luther King's birthday but I was out of work all last week with the flu so I'm at the office.
About two hours ago, we got an evacuate the building notice, which usually means a false alarm or a toaster fire where some idiot forgot they had a bagel cooking, but when we called downstairs, they told us Don't worry, it's just a pipe which burst.
Couple of things about that. One, when we get that notice to evacuate, strobe lights go off continuously, the biggest of which is right over my desk. I feel like I'm in a nightclub during the disco years (or in my parents' basement during the pot smoking years). I've had this thing blinking in my left eye since 11:00 a.m.
Two, a broken pipe means no toilets or running water. So even if you use the ladies room and don't flush like some of the morons here are doing, you can't wash your hands afterwards.
As for me, well, there's a four star hotel a few doors down from my office, The Bellevue, and I found a lovely ladies' room on the 13th floor with scented soaps and everything, including a woman sitting there who expects a tip everytime you pee. (Yes, I'm well aware there's a great joke waiting to be told as concerns that last remark but I can't think of it so feel free to post one in comments if anyone reading this is so inspired.) Round trip back and forth to the hotel only takes about 10-15 minutes and costs $2.00 per tinkle. Ha.
Except for the fact that it's like twenty below zero outside and I drank an entire pot of coffee this morning...ARGHHH...and oh god, I just realized there's asparagus in my lunch salad.
WHY THE FUCK DON'T THEY SEND US HOME?
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