Invention idea.

I would like to invent a battery for smoke detectors that won't run out of juice in the middle of the night.

Something's not right...

The biking guy has a personal massager for his stiff muscles. In his legs. From the biking you see.

I can hear vibrating coming from the cubicle across from mine... and I can see the chair but not the guy's head. He's either slumped over or slid way down in his chair.

I hope, my dear reader, you are as uncomfortable at this point as I am.

Schwetty...

A douchebag I sit across from bikes to work and I'm guessing his trip is about 15 km in the mornings, it takes him about an hour. Often by the time he comes into work he'll have muscle cramps and hurting bits so on occasion he has asked me for Advil or Ibuprofin, because all girls are a source of band-aids and personal-care supplies. Yesterday he comes in and I didn't take notice of him due to headphones. Not much of a morning person anyway, but I'm listening to music to drown out the chitchat and arguing this group really seems to enjoy. Douchebag comes up behind me and pokes me in the shoulder; I turn around and he's not just still gasping for breath, but he's also dripping with sweat. Gigantic beads of sweat dripping onto his shoulders and onto the floor of my cubicle. He's holding a sandwich baggie full of Advil and says: "Hey why don't you help yourself to some of these since I'm always asking you for some of yours!"

Looks legit, I'd say! Being offered a sandwich baggie of Advil by a guy drowning in his own sweat... I wave him off and tell him it's no problem and I'm good for Advil. I do not throw up into his baggie of sweaty Advil, so way to go me!

After which he goes to the kitchenette beside his cubicle (directly kitty-corner from where I sit) and proceeds to have a wipe-down/sponge-bath. In the kitchen we all use. I do not throw up or say anything mean. So way to go me!

Then the guy who sits across from the kitchen and directly beside me comes in from his own bike ride to work and proceeds to inform me that he is going to be changing in his cube and would appreciate if I don't look over for a bit. No worries Douchebag #2, I'm so not interested. Then he hangs all his clothes to dry out over our shared cubicle wall, including some part of his gear that looks like a man-bra. Again, I do not throw up or say anything mean like "all your wobbly bits fit into that tiny bit of lycra?" so way to go me!

Yes, we have a bathroom, that is barely 10 steps down the hallway.
No, I don't know why they don't use it.