Tag Archives: Dyson hand dryers

Sucking Up

I was in the men’s room in the office this morning, washing my hands, when I had a bit of a mishap.

I held the soap dispenser at slightly the wrong angle and when I pressed the nozzle at the top a splurt of blue goo splashed onto my shirt.

I know little of clothes-washing protocol.  Phrases like Even At Low Temperatures, Fabric Softener or Don’t Mix Whites With Colours (how does Ronald McDonald wash his outfit?) are phrases that, well, wash over me, but even I reckoned that blue glop, if left untouched, could have ghastly effects on a green polo shirt. I quickly splashed water from the sink onto it until I was happy that the shirt no longer looked as if it was covered in liquidised smurf.

My problem now was that I now had a large round wet patch, and while it was on my tummy and therefore didn’t look like I’d had some incontinent accident (“poor old Tinman,” the Young Wans in the office would have been saying, “well, he IS getting on a bit, I mean he’s been senile for ages”) it did make me look like I’d been afflicted like one of the guys from Alien. Therefore I decided to have a go at drying my shirt before venturing outside.

The hand dryers in our toilets are these Dyson Airblade things, as shown in the picture (no, that’s not me, I copied the picture off the internet), and I have written before about the problems I encountered when I tried to dry my face in one (I likened it to being snogged by an ostrich). Shirt drying, though, was easier to manage, I just slid my shirt down over the front jaw of the machine.

A howling stream of warm air rushed up the outside of my shirt, but as an unexpected bonus its twin rushed up the inside, buffeting me from navel to nipples in a thermal tornado. And not only was it deliciously, tinglingly warm, but it was so powerful that I could practically feel it toning my muscles as well like those vibrating belt things that they sell on the telly in one of those offers that is not available in shops. I might start my own fitness video using one, it’s a lot more fun than sit-ups.

Anyway, as another cold front sweeps down over our country tonight, due to last at least a week, here’s a tip.

Go dry your shirt in a hand-dryer, and enjoy a warm front instead.

Face Off

Ever since we moved to this office (yes, I’m writing this at work, it’s 5 o’clock on a Friday, I’ve done enough for the day) we’ve had paper hand-towels in the toilets (or restrooms, or bathrooms, or whatever you call them where you live and pee). I can’t speak for the Ladies, but with over a hundred blokes in the company the Gents went through a lot of paper towels, and the bin used to be pretty full by the end of the day.

So in order to help the environment and makes the toilets slightly less disgusting (believe me, it needs a lot more than that to make them totally undisgusting), we’ve installed those super-duper Dyson-type dryers (not actual Dysons, more a generic version), the ones that grab your hands and essentially suck all the water off them.

And they’re great – clean, quick, hygienic. There are no drawbacks. Or so I thought.

About an hour ago I felt really sleepy, since it’s very humid today. With an hour to go this normally wouldn’t bother me, but I’m going out after work with Goldeneyes and two girls who used to work here (yes, me & three lovely young girls, what can I say, I’m gorgeous) so I reckoned I’d better wake myself up. Without thinking I went to the bathroom and washed my face, first in cold water, then in warm. Then of course I realised that there are no paper towels anymore.

So I had a go at drying my face with the Dyson.

I’ve never been snogged by an ostrich, but I reckon now that I know what it would feel like.