Cups

I was telling this story the other night and the person on the receiving end cried. This being said, I don't expect anyone else to cry.

I know a guy who paces all day. When he's not pacing, he's at the water cooler gulping water. Out of cups. Usually my cup. My morning grande cappuccino cup. The one with my name on it.

In my defense, cappuccino tastes weird out of anything except a paper cup. And I have recently made the change to the new recyclable cup.

Anyway. Sometimes we find a stash of cups in the building - hidden behind the fridge in the copy room. In a cabinet no one has thought to use in a year. In a locker in a corner. By stash I mean it can be upwards of 30 cups. NOT all mine. Cups are pilfered from everyone alike. Taken off desks, out of wastebaskets. New cups discovered in the board room after a meeting.

We always toss the cups.

We try to give this guy new cups. We let him store one cup in a safe place.

It doesn't work. I have finally come to the conclusion that he doesn't WANT his own cup - he wants my cup. Who knows why? It's likely so ingrained at this point, it can't ever change. And that's my job. To recognize this won't change, meet him there, and work on something else.

Like waiting until after lunch to come around collecting trash.