For a cluster full of highly trained, easily bored redneck technicians working long hours in windowless buildings, we sure sucked at basic facilities maintenance.
Overhead lightbulbs would go dim in the office and remain so for five years. Backup tapes would moulder in a side office, victims of decreased spend on offsite archival efforts. Someone would punch a hole in the wall, and, some turnover later, somebody would finally get sick enough of it to bring in some plaster.
One building simply kept the same peeling floor tiles and battered wheelchair ramp in the unused lobby through four renovations and half a decade before someone, squeezed on budget and time, bothered to reclaim it for raised floor space.
My favorite example of this was the HIGH VOLTAGE sign on the dock's cargo elevator. It had been originally glued to the wall. Entropy waits for no fixative, and so it went through multiple sets of tacks, wads of chewing gum, varying sizes and manifestations of duct tape before finally simply being left propped up on the floor beside the elevator. Occasionally it was kicked into the elevator.
On my way out of the cluster, I took pity on the poor sign and packed it into Natasha. It's lived in entryways, stairwells, and pantries coast to coast since then. Surprisingly, nails through the holes drilled into the sign on manufacture, have kept the thing firmly affixed to my walls.