September 29, 2008

TAMP: Man Cannot Live on Bread Alone

Worth the wait? Probably not, but I’ll try anyway. To my 3.59 faithful readers, sorry it’s been a while. I wish I had some legitimate reason to excuse my absence from “those aren’t my pants,” but sadly the truth is I haven’t had any real inspiration recently, so here I go again…on my own…along the only road I’ve ever known…etc, etc…(Is there a legitimate thought that can’t be seconded by a kick-a$$ power ballad? I didn’t think so.) Since I don’t have a real thematic presentation for this entry (and I will try for one in the future), your stuck with more random thoughts and observations:

As I may have mentioned before, my job is a little odd, and full of interesting sights and smells. This week I’ve been working in Booking, where I kindly usher Weld’s fugitives of justice from the warm embrace of their arresting officer to the crushing reality of life with a criminal record, a frightening booking photo, and a bad night in a room cell 1. Cell 1 regularly houses 15 inmates and when my mad human Tetris skills are at work has been known to house 21-28. Stacking alleged offenders like cordwood has its disadvantages, most notably the smell – as one can only imagine – but this is not the smell that struck me the most this week.

As I was taking one of my breaks in the staff lounge this week, I was hit with a familiar and not unpleasant smell that one doesn’t normally associate with the men’s room at work. In my umpteenth trip, my brain had finally cataloged the smell and alerted my consciousness to what it was – the scent of fresh baked French bread. In some sort of Star Trekian vortex or Stargate-like worm hole, the men’s restroom in the officer’s lounge at the county lock-up smells like a Parisian patisserie (bakery for you simpletons out there).

In the past week I’ve booked in a grandmother, an active deputy sheriff (from another county), and almost got to book in a few nuns, which is a story for another day, but nothing I saw, read, observed, or experienced had the gross juxtaposition of a latrine mixed with the odor of a crusty and delicious conveyance of meat and cheese. Well, with that work done, I think I’ll go the bathroom and make myself a sandwich.


The Coach said...

Urinal Cakes? No thanks, we've got urinal baguettes. They're more ... fragrant.

But thank you.

Matty said...

I laughed my whole way through this post. Brilliant stuff. I think you have proved that the enjoyability of your posts are high based on the quality of your writing not the profundity of your topic. Keep em coming.