How to wash your balls in the sink at work

For the first time in this series of stories, this one is a little bit second hand, as it's not about my balls.
In this one, they were owned by a colleague, but I'm sure they don't mind mind being the star of this story.
A few years ago I was working as an IT contractor for a public sector company.
The building was old, as was the air, which had been there for decades and had been breathed in and out many many times.
The people who worked there were old and still; so much so that their shoes had started to fuse with the stinky carpet tiles, as they stared unblinking at their heavy 80s monitors.
One of the few exceptions was a chap called Dave (not his real name), who I worked with.  Exceptionally bright and physically active, he used to ride his bicycle 30 miles to work, and persuade people to smell his armpits while they were still juicy.
One afternoon he proudly trotted into the office and told us that he had a date that evening, straight after work.  Just to make sure everything was ready, he pulled the front of his elasticated jogging pants forward and leaned in as much as he could, for a good sniff.
Looking just as proud, he announced that he needed to go and wash the cheesy paste from his balls, and would be back in a bit.
Twenty minutes later he came back with that same expression of pride on the front of his head, and told us about how he'd met the bloke from HR in the toilet.  I thought that was an unusual thing to tell us about, which it kind of was, as he'd had one knee on the worktop next to the sink, with his cock and balls in the sink, as the HR bloke walked in.
Dave told us out how politely said hello to this chap, and carried on with his important task, but couldn't help notice a strange expression of surprise and upset on his face.
Dave was only telling us about this because he didn't understand why this guy didn't seem pleased to see him.
After we explained that it was probably something to do with his balls, he looked just as confused as the HR bloke; he always thought his balls were normal.  Was there something wrong with them that he didn't know about?
An hour later, we all received an email to the entire team entitled 'PLEASE DO NOT WASH YOUR CROCKERY IN THE BATHROOM SINKS'.
Was this a coincidence?  Was someone caught washing plates and bowls in there just after Dave had finished?
Not willing to miss an opportunity, Pete (also not his real name), who I also worked with clicked Reply To All leaving everything in the email exactly the same, but removed the first R in the word CROCKERY.
After this incident, many of the old people who we thought were probably dead, presumably read the email, and started to blink, and move around, and talk and stuff.  It was like it was a little sparkle of magic had woke them out of a 100 year sleep.
Weird little moment.
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