Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Breast Pump Baby, it's a Gas Gas Gas

Yes, I work in the Twilight Zone<tm>, where gravity is merely a suggestion; right at the intersection of the yellow brick road and the duck pond.

It was a light and chilly morning.  I was kinda tired and not at the top of my game.  To prevent falling asleep at my desk, I decided to take a walk.  I am beginning to suspect I work in the Obsessive Compulsive Disorder center of Philadelphia, where hand-washing is not only mandatory, it's constant.  And after everyone is done washing their hands, they can feel free to hit the antibacterial soap dispenser and rub their hands some more.  I am looking for some helpful pamphlets on germphobia and hand-washing to put under the dispensers.

So I stumbled out to the kitchen to splash some water on my face and stood behind a coworker.  In my semi-awake state I noticed a bunch of plastic parts on the drying rack.  While washing my own hands, it suddenly occurred to me: those plastic parts look like a breast pump.  This lady was washing out her breast pump in the kitchen sink.

To be dreadfully honest, I have never seen a breast pump in person, but this had somewhat of a genuine appearance.  It was definitely not at the top of the list of things I thought I was going to see this morning.

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