Just when it was safe to reopen my eyes… I’ve talked recently about Elmer at work, and no doubt I will a lot more, heh.
Last week was good — Elmer wasn’t in the main room we all reside in. He was doing backup tape duties, and all was good.
He is back this week. Last night, at one point I almost projectile vomited over my lovely Dell LCD monitor at the ungodly hour of about 4am when he proceeded to take one shoe off, then the sock, then to repeatedly pick and scratch at the base of his foot.
This alone I could half deal with (excepting the whole “this isn’t your fucking bedroom dickhead” concept), but then when he left the shit off his feet for a while, and was then spotted idly picking his nose and munching away on the treasure was when my gut turned.
Sure, most of us are somewhat gross in these ways, but again, in privacy. I for one wouldn’t be picking at my foot and then jamming my fingers firstly up my nose and then into my gob. He’s scratching for a reason (tinea no doubt), and putting that alone up yer nose let alone the mouth is just plain fucking wrong.
His little travel agency business on the side is going well too — importing all his Kiwi freak family over for christmas. Didn’t do any bank-rort phone tieline connections for his daughter at home to NZ though this time — although he suggested it.
Image helper: 6 foot 5ish, 50 year old looking, gray beard, baggy spraypants, and a slouch. Not to mention the whiny stupid Kiwi/Elmer accent.
Lord give me strength.