J.R. and I were at work, doing the job that no one wanted to do: unload pallets of Miloganite. For those of you who aren’t up to date on lawn care, Miloganite is an all natural lawn fertilizer. It is a tremendous product. But it stinks like shit. Because that is what it's made out of. And not just any old shit, Miloganite is a by-product of the good people of Milwaukee who recycle their own sewage and turn it in to one of the best lawn fertilizers on the market. J.R. and I unloaded each bag by hand and stacked it in a nice neat pile in a storage area. Then a bag broke open and poured tiny poop pellets all over my pants. Seriously: It was in the cuff of my Carharts, in my socks, and a few morsels made it into my shoes. J.R. laughed and cried at my misfortune. 

Then J.R. and I got sent out on a delivery. We were told to deliver some potted plants to a fancy office park in the suburbs. Why on earth, management decided to send us two is beyond me. In our stocking caps and tattered work gear, we looked like a repo crew. Plus, I stank. I literally stank like shit. Not exactly corporate casual.

On the drive over, we chugged Mt. Dew and earnestly debated who would win in a fight between the Taliban vs. the I.R.A. We pulled up to the corporate tower and entered the lobby. It was a grand showcase of corporate wealth; all polished marble and floor to ceiling windows. A huge fountain gurgled in a corner garden and Koi fish peacefully swam by. The office liaison, a cheery chap named Stephen, greeted us and gave instructions.

“Please drive around to the back of the building, enter the loading dock, and use the service elevator,” Stephen said somewhat politely. “Once you are on the second floor, I will escort you in to the back door of the office. Then I will guide you through the office to the balcony.”

We got out of the service elevator on the second floor and Stephen was waiting for us like a gatekeeper. He led us past the mahogany and marble filled office lobby, down a back hallway, and into a side door. J.R. and I each were carrying a twenty pound ceramic pot that was full of wet soil and plants. As we struggled through the maze of cubicles and glass walled offices - careful not to drop the pots - every single office worker stopped us to have a look at the new arrivals. It was a nightmare. In a field of short cubicles to my left, dozens of heads popped up like Whack-A-Mole.  Stephen gushed profoundly to his coworkers about how beautiful the plants were, making us stand there holding up the pots like idiots.

J.R. and I went up on the service elevator and hauled plants through the office a total of seven times. By the end, I felt like I had endured a strongman competition. We took a wrong turn on our exit and came upon a dead end. There were three rooms: A granite tiled spa, a workout room that had four plasma TVs on the walls, and a relaxation room called “The Tranquillity Center”. I took a step inside and saw two Lazy-E-Boy chairs and a couch. There was a sound machine and blankets. When I stepped out of “The Tranquility Room”, I bumped in to J.R. who was having a peek of his own. J.R. wiggled his nose.

“Seriously, dude,” he said bristling, “You smell like shit.”