Coppertone: glad you’re back and survived your ordeal. Sorry it hurt but it sounds like not too awful. At least it only gets better from now.
susan: best of luck with tummy-calming and talk-planning.
Doggio: As I’ve said, I swear they’re trying to make your plant fail.
Oh. How boring. I was hoping for a much better story. More like this one:
Back in Vegas I owned a small company with about 30 folks who worked answering phones and doing customer service type work on the PC in front of them. Not highly skilled, not highly paid, but well above the minimum wage. The crew were sweet; we hired no jerks. But they were a little rough-hewn if you will. The common clay of the New West. Not stupid; just uncultured. Most, but not all, were women.
Sometimes it was crazy busy and sometimes it was not at all. Then the crew mostly sat around their communal workrooms yakking with one another or went outside to smoke or to the breakroom to eat or drink. This was years before they’d each have had a personal phone to peck at. The WWW, much less smartphones, was still in the future.
One afternoon a lull in the action came to an end and now everybody was busy. But two desks were empty that should not have been. Where did they go? The shift super was dispatched to find our missing troops before the call backlog got out of sight.
Yep. Out back shagging in the dumpster. One he, one she goin’ at it with gusto. Our dumpsters contained only shredded office paper and some flattened cardboard boxes so were actually not bad impromptu sex spots. Kind of an overgrown rodent cage with torn paper bedding. Soon they were back at their stations with lots of bits of shredded paper still clinging to clothes and hair.
Anyhow, thereafter she was known as “Dumpster Bunny” and he was “The Trashman”. Sometimes people get the names they deserve. 
Your “Screaming O” deserves a better backstory.