Floor: All day long, every day, I get walked on. Kicked. Dirt and goose poop get ground into my 1960s pores.
Trash can: We do have it pretty bad, don’t we? I mean, the teacher thinks she has it the worst? You see her crying when the kids are at art, grading that stack of papers while she stress eats 3 packs of Oreos from the vending machine. Pfft. She's got it easy!
Floor: Yeah, and mumbling something about having to go pee but she also has to make 25 copies of 10 packets and the stapler in the machine wasn't working which meant she'd have to hand staple all those copies and she only had 20 minutes left. Did she ever go pee?
Oh sorry, I digress. Please, enlighten me. How do you have it worse than me?
Trash can: Those kids throw booger-covered tissues and bloodied bandages in me from the 3-point line in the classroom!
Floor: Ahem. And when they miss, which they almost always do, they land on ME. So, you were saying?
Trash can: Paper towels that wipe down the filth of 25 eight-year-olds are nonchalantly tossed in me whenever the teacher has a minute to wipe down the desks in this place. And let’s not forget how I accompany the kids down the hall all winter long.
Floor: Ohhh right. The winter. (shudders)
Trash Can: Exactly! That walk of shame that I have to do, being held by some kid that is about to spew his Pop-Tart and chocolate milk breakfast of champions all over me!
Floor: Whoooa, hold on there, big guy. I have no warning! Zero! They just up and chuck all over me! At least you know that once they scoop you up and take you for a stroll, there is a very good likelihood that you will be the recipient of blown chunks. Me? One minute I’m relaxing while the kids are finally in their seats and I have a moment to myself and the next minute…
Trash Can: Ok, yeah. You win.
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