The floor is our canvas

My co-worker Yiaourti and I have been slowly turning our (shared) office door into a collage of seemingly random found images. Although each item has a meaning to us, it would make very little sense to the casual observer. Each new addition provides us with much joy and self-satisfaction. We are continually surprised, however, at the lack of reaction our slowly evolving work has received.

One group of work-related people, however, have been reacting quite a bit lately- the cleaners. They have become quite vocal about their frustration with us. The cause of their distress is popcorn. Yiaourti and I recently kidnapped a microwave and put it in our office and have become deeply addicted to popcorn. As anyone who has gone to a movie theatre knows, popcorn is a delicious, but messy, pleasure. The cleaners are having nervous breakdowns at the popcorn shrapnel we leave on the floor every day, to the point where one saw the kernels on the carpet and yelped "I can't take this anymore". One of them has taken to calling us "the Popcorns". They'd have to vacuum anyway, so I don't get the meltdown.

Today, in an extension of our door-collage, we thought that we would up the ante in our private war with the cleaners and took images of popcorn and taped them to the floor to confuse/frustrate our enemies. We eventually found this too cruel and risky and abandoned the idea. This reminded us of the time when Yiaourti was harassing me with images of the Hamburglar. One of her attacks involved her taping the Hamburglar's face onto the floor at the entrance to our office. Recalling this, she accidentally called him "the Hamburger Helper", which I found ridiculously funny, as if he was a counsellor or consumer rights crusader for the hamburger community.

I wish we had left the popcorn pictures on the floor now.