One of my big bosses favors a theory he read about in a book called Steal like an Artist. The idea is that by limiting your color palette you unlock your creativity.
My wheelchair limits my palette significantly, so you'd think I was the most creative boy in school. What it actually meant this week was being stuck in a stinky bathroom stall.
When I got to work Tuesday, the whole bathroom smelled like something died in the pipes and was stuck there. After I flushed the toilet in the wheelchair stall, the smell dissipated a bit, but it became clear that the dead rat was in the pipes leading to the toilet in the wheelchair stall.
How do you complain that a bathroom is stinky? I was at a loss, so I just held my breath and hoped it would be OK today.
Finally, I contacted the building manager and said: "I know it is odd to complain a bathroom smells, but ..." They cleaned it, and it was fine.
The stink did have one benefit: No interlopers. Who wants to sit on a nasty-smelling toilet when you don't have to? I went back after it was clean, and someone was in there.
I used my unlocked creativity to devise befitting tortures for him.
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