the white truck and the urinal analogy.

"Who owns the white truck?"

I get an email with this title. Everyone in my entire company gets an email with this title. There is a white truck parked in Roy's spot, and he won't admit that's why he's pissed, but everyone knows that's why he's pissed. He tries to make it sound like a turf war, because we suspect the white truck is owned by someone who works at the software company next door. Maybe we're the Crips and they're the Bloods, or at the very least, we're the Sharks and they're the Jets. Really, it's just about his space. Various ideas of retaliation are thrown around, including putting nasty notes on the windshield, putting one of our company bumper stickers on the back, and throwing rocks through the back window.

I sort of stare at him uncomprehendingly, because honestly, who gives a crap? He had to park ten feet farther away from the door than usual. Despite those particular ten feet being uphill in the snow and he somehow lost his shoes, he did make it out alive. I wonder if Roy has a lot of stress in his life, and whether any of it could be relieved by not sweating the small stuff.

Roy comes to my cube to enlist my help in the war. As one of the early-morning people, I get here in time to take one of their spaces, which Roy thinks I should do tomorrow morning. To do so would be to park even farther away, but that apparently does not matter now. I cannot conceal my complete lack of concern for his problem.

"What if, well, you're a girl. Okay, what if you went into the women's room and there were no stalls, just toilets. And you sit down, and some girl comes in and sits down on the toilet directly next to you, instead of the one at the other end. Wouldn't that be completely inappropriate?" He is incredulous, as am I, for completely different reasons.

I'm still stuck on the idea of a women's bathroom with no stalls. Forget worrying about where another girl is sitting, WHY AREN'T THERE ANY STALLS? I toured a women's prison once, and that's how it was. It was enough to keep me on the right side of the law for the rest of my life. Finally, I get past that image and realize he's making a reference to some peeing-standing-up thing I don't know about.

"That is a terrible analogy. I don't know about urinal protocol." To me, it's more like you have your favorite urinal (as I have a prefered stall) and someone's already using it when you get there. Do you stand there and look outraged? Do you whine and bitch and moan and send out company emails? Do you go in and plaster a company sticker to the offender's forehead? No, you go pee and then you get on with your life.

"Okay, fine, it doesn't make much sense for you. But it's war!" At this point, I realize he's not going to leave, so I just agree to park next door tomorrow morning. I know I have no intention of doing this, and I sincerely hope my voice is conveying that message. He'll be lucky if I don't park in his stupid spot tomorrow. Maybe I should just pee in it.