That’s Not My Dog

Have you heard the story of the man who is sitting on a park bench and a dog is sitting next to him? Another man walks up to the seated man and asks if his dog bites. The man responds with No. The dog bites the man who just walked up. The bitten man asks the seated man why he said his dog didn’t bite. The seated man says because that’s not my dog.

I was reminded of this story as I was just walking down the hall. A woman asked me if the water in the water fountain was OK to drink. I said I didn’t know. She said I thought you worked here. I turned around and said I do but I’ve never drank out of the fountain.

She assumed I’d drink water out of a fountain that sits directly outside of the most hellishly consistent bathroom I’ve ever had the misfortune to use. There’s no way I’m going to use a water fountain that is touched on a frequent basis by the people who ruin the bathroom every day. At least I can wash my hands in the bathroom, there’s no way I’m putting my face and mouth anywhere near a water fountain in this building.

More importantly, I consider this one of the dumbest questions I’ve ever been asked. If we were standing outside a squat toilet in outer Crazyistan then I might ask someone about the water, but we’re only in Crazytown, not Crazyistan.