The election of Trump strikes home. The Duck becomes stressed and his terrible breath nearly sabotages my burgeoning career as a groundskeeper

I like to have a little solitude while I eat my lunch.
I have found the secret to happiness in life is the concept of controlled access.
Thursday I was quietly minding my own business during my hour lunch break.
I was enjoying a very tasty short rib and onion sandwich skillfully crafted by my lovely and gracious wife.
I was sitting at the Groundskeeping department meeting room taking advantage of the Faculty and Staff WiFi and reading about two Confederate brothers who invented the landmine.
I was gleefully envisioning Blue Belly Yankee Devil Hillary Supporters being blown to smithereens by the evil racist rebels of the South when faint whiff of familiar stench infiltrated my senses.
 I must say the the duck did sneak up on me. I did not hear his usual gruff quack. I would qualify the announcement of his arrival as as more of an angry hiss. Obviously a sign of displeasure in the results of the recent election. At first I merely thought his arrival indicated a desire to find a safe space where he could find emotional solace through the diversity, sustainability, and inclusiveness of our department.
But, soon his foul breath had declared his evil intent. He had become overcome by the injustice of the Electoral College and its denial of the popular vote for our almost dear leader Hillary. He has succumbed to the temptations of violence and anarchy and it would not be a nonviolent protest.
I soon realized I was somewhat trapped in a unventilated space and the hands of the office clock were quickly approaching the end of the lunch hour.
If one of the groundskeeper ladies were to come into the office for some Personal Protection Equipment (PPE) they would perchance not notice the duck and blame me for the act of fowl aggression.
I beat a hasty retreat out the back door into the repair shop and headed for the golf car parking area where the smokers hang out.
No foul duck breath can compete with the aromatic essence of second hand cigarette smoke.
I paused at the doorway to survey the scene.
My supervisor was feet from the office door. I quickly ducked (but without any foul essence or quackery) back into the hallway and headed for the time clock.
I was quite relieved to hear him exclaim the name of the hispanic fellow who sits next to me. Jesus is a pretty decent guy and I hate to get him in trouble but of course, better him than I. I'm not sure why my boss used an American pronunciation of my friends name as the boss is also hispanic.
I quickly clocked in and headed back to work.
When I returned for afternoon break I found the office to be reeking of strong disinfectant. Probably the result of an accidental spill.
I am quite sure no one suspects I was the target of an evil duck whose attack on my safe space was responsible for the desecration of the meeting room.
Perhaps I should file a report with HR.