Honking Toilet of Doom

I want to buy a bunch of crickets from the pet store. That way, whenever we're in a staff meeting and our supervisor nervously jokes about how she doesn't really do anything, and there's a long pause during which nobody says "no, no, you do so much," it will be a little more pointed.

The crickets you buy at PetSmart, like my supervisor's remarks, are used as bait. But crickets are effective.

We do, however, have the Honking Toilet of Doom to break the awkward silences during meetings. The third-stall toilet in the east side ladies' room emits a very loud "grrreeeeeeONNNNK" a few seconds after it's flushed. I've thought about putting a warning sign on the stall door, because it's clearly audible from both our department's conference rooms - from about half the second floor, really. Our meetings are irregularly punctuated with the sound, which always makes the less mature attendees (read: me) dissolve into fits of giggling.

We had two of these meetings today: paying, I suppose, for the pleasures of a three-day weekend out of town. The Honking Toilet of Doom had been a topic of conversation in Corpus! We had to explain this to one of our coworkers while recapping the trip. He said he had never heard the sound before, so later, as we sat in our staff meeting waiting for everyone to assemble, and the Honk of Doom echoed through the room, I said, "There! There it is! Hear it?" and he did indeed.

A few moments later, Bubbling Nonsmoker* entered the room. Our coworker brightened. "Hey! We just heard you flush the toilet!" he exclaimed.

She was Not Amused. Robbie, on the other hand, looked as if he might die of asphyxiation.

That was the high point of the meeting, though. Which is why I really need the crickets.

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*The artist formerly known as Bitching Smoker.