CrustOrama!

Crusty the Patron (a.ka. Nearsighted Dave) was, of course, back today. He left us with marginally (MARGINALLY!!!) less crust than last time, but he made up for his slight lack of dermal generosity by staying on the computers for nearly SEVEN HOURS!!!!! 

He had already been there for an hour and half by the time I arrived. Then, half an hour later, we had a sudden rush on the computers and I was able to boot him off for someone else. I again cleaned up his crust and disinfected the area before allowing the next person on. 

Crusty lingered in our front room for several minutes. I wondered if perhaps he'd signed up for another session of computing time and was just waiting for his turn to roll back around, but his name wasn't on the sheet so I didn't offer when another computer freed up a couple minutes later. 

Eventually, he left the building, but did not take his lingering stench with him. I had to carpet bomb the front room with Febreeze air-freshener. (We now have cans of the stuff hidden EVERYWHERE. Frankly, I'd prefer to have it in Fire Extinguisher form.) 

Crusty was only gone for about 10 minutes before it started to rain. He'd departed on foot, so he must not have a car, or at least not one nearby. As soon as the raindrops began to fall, he once again appeared. I wondered if he would notice the Febreeze, but thought it unlikely, what with his olfactory centers likely burned out from his own scent. I didn't really care either way. 

"Uh... I forgot I was supposed to e-mail somebody," Crusty Dave said. At that point, I had two empty computers in the back, so I didn't have any other avenue but to let him use one. I told him he could sign up again and went back to log him on. And from that moment until nearly 6:30 when I, at last, had enough computer demand to boot him off again, Crusty Dave's ass didn't move from his computer chair. 

And what, you might ask, was he doing for nearly 7 straight hours? Lookin' at porn, that's what. Or, at least, as much nakedness as our filters would allow him see—which turns out to be quite a bit, actually. This use of our facilities bothers Mrs. A more than his tender flaky crust.