“Where’s C.?”
“In the restroom.”
“…which one?”
– Hennessy and officer

As I have ranted before, one of my most hated jobs is picking up and dropping of the laundry for the officers.  The issues of managing laundry for forty grown men will not be further discussed here, but what will now be revealed is that, between hauling up to 20 bags in and out of the office three days a week, hanging up individual orders on lockers, wrangling excess hangers, and hunting for whatever goes missing, I probably spend more time in the men’s room than the ladies’.

And the funny thing is, all of the student officers have become completely immune to the sight of me in pencil skirt and heels, trotting in and out of their locker room.  I knock first, naturally!

The first time I was doing the laundry by myself, a bunch of new student officers lumbered in, saw me hanging up uniforms, and jumped about a mile (squealing a little).  Like I was a mouse.  Bless them.  These days we have nice conversations as they lace up their boots.

But every once in a while, I’ll skip on out of the men’s room and a reserve officer (who doesn’t normally work here) on his way in, will do a double take and give me a funny look.  I usually just say hi and decline to explain.  I think it’s good for them to be shaken up a bit every once and a while.