Good Enough for Government Work: I Need a New Lanyard

A little-known fact that many white-collar cubicle farmers will identify with is the undeniable necessity of the tiny piece of hardware known as the zipping lanyard. Many of you, I'm sure, are familiar with the zipping lanyard, regardless of whether it plays an integral role in your lives or not; for those unfamiliar - this device is essentially a belt clip hooked to a spring-loaded zip line of sorts which coils and retracts the object attached to the end of the line into a snug position upon release, thus giving the object its namesake. A typical use for the zipping lanyard amongst office-working denizens is the attachment of the secure ID card, used primarily to identify, sort, and manage access permissions of every worker, much in the way your average Wyoming meatmonger tags and labels his cattle.
Affixing one's secure ID card to the zipping lanyard has many benefits and proves far superior to affixing the card to a plain belt-clip alone. First and foremost, the zipping lanyard avoids embarrassing situations entirely (such as the described in the previous entry below) by eliminating the need to disconnect one's ID from a belt loop in order to swipe it past the proximity pad. Secondly, the zipping lanyard provides elastic buffer room for stretch in the event that any one particularly oafish worker, such as myself, manages to catch an ID in something, thus preventing any breakage of said ID and resulting loss (I have broken and lost my secure ID so many times that the security office has now created a policy under which the first loss is free, but any subsequent losses incur a replacement charge of no less than $30). Of course, last, but certainly not least, the compact, easy-to-carry form-factor provides convenient storage of one half yard of improvised garrotting-wire - perfect for disposing of the boss in the event of an all-out cubicle warfare (I'd say it were improbable, but then again, I work on a military contract for the US Government making urban-warfare-ready man-packable robots. You never know when those dirty Russkies or any other saboteurs might sneak into the facilities posing as an engineer to steal our technology).
As one might be able to gather - the zipping lanyard proves an indespensible part of Joe Whitecollar's every day routine, which is why I have resolved to run down to the security department to beg for a brand new functional lanyard upon completion of this post. For you see, while I might fear the wrath of the facilities manager for once again asking for more freebies, I was subject today to perhaps the most compelling reason to keep one's zipper lanyard in good condition.

My zipping lanyard hasn't been working very well for the past few days - suffice to say that months and months of wear and tear have reduced the zipping portion to a semi-functional state of only half-retracting my ID back to the clip upon release. I figured this was probably fine given that the zipping part at least half-worked; worked well-enough to serve purposes 1) and 2) as listed above. However, I will offer to the public a word of caution now, and that is: a dangling ID is perhaps an even greater menace than a fixed ID by itself. "How do I know this?" you might ask. I discovered this terrible fact after experiencing a tragic and scarring moment of soilage as I was using the toilet this afternoon. I had made a mad dash for the ladies' biff after drinking an entire bottle of Sprite in a woefully inadequate attempt to wash down the BBQ tire chunks that were served alongside wilted greens and corpse-flavored cheese during today's crappy meeting luncheon. The EE luncheon happens once every two weeks during which time the EE director uses the promise of sub-grade food in hopes that the spices of "free" prove enticing enough to lull a bunch of angry engineers into complacency while he mumbles on about some particularly boring powerpoint presentation or another. Today's lunch was a change from the usual selection of sandwiches made from sub-grade deli style roadkill, and as such I allowed my deluded hopes to take over, foolishly mistaking the A-1 Michelin kebobs for beef.
Suffice to say, my bladder became engorged after the vast amount of liquid I consumed to aid in the digestion process of this meal, and by the time I had perched myself atop the toilet, arranging my clothes was the last thing on my mind.
In the process of dewatering my reactor, however, I began to feel a certain wet warmth on my inner thigh - a sharp contrast indeed to the cold, cold toilet seat... and clear indication that something was awry. Through years of defecation and micturation for a semi-professional team, I have learned to recognize the signs of bodily elimination going terribly amiss, and aside from visually observing an errant turd on the floor, an unexplained warmth and wetness is the number one indicator of misplaced bodily waste-removal.
Allow me to revisit the topic once again of the essential necessity of the zipping lanyard, and the ability for a malfunctioning one to do more harm than good. Looking down at the pooling warmth splashing upon my inner thighs, I became aware of my dangling secure ID, deftly deflecting my urine stream from side to side as it spun freely from its spindly tether. What was I to do? The stream was rushing strong and fast - I couldn't very well part the seas with my bare hands to fish my ID out of there, and yet I couldn't very well leave the ID alone. Looking down I could already see the tiny portrait of my smiling visage printed on the card front vaguely discoloring from the corrosive properties of my nitrogenous waste. How was I going to explain the runny badge to the security manager? "Excuse me sir, I peed on my security badge, could I please have another? I didn't technically lose it this time, so may I have one free of charge? You can have this other one."
I think not! While lesser (wo)men in the same situation might have despaired, I, an engineer, made the split-second decision to save my ID from the urine stream by detaching my zipper lanyard from my body and lifting the badge by the belt clip upwards towards an awaiting pile of toilet paper. Like a helicopter performing a medical air-lift support, I lofted the badge upwards with the greatest of care, only to be met with the most unpleasant of unforseen events.

My malfunctioning zipper lanyard decided to zip.

At that very second, the very same malfunctioning zipper lanyard that had failed to fully retract its cord for the last several days, retracted with an audible *snap*, splashing badge-urine across the stall, and more unfortunately, across my face in a graceful parabolic arc.

... I need a new zipper lanyard.

Further bulletins as events warrant.