Longtime readers will recall my horrified blog entry several months ago when I was held hostage in the men’s room at work, trapped by my own twisted sense of bathroom etiquette and terrified fascination with the chaos unfolding a few stalls down. Well, yesterday I had a different experience.
I struggle with what you might call “performance anxiety” when it comes to the restroom. I’m ridiculously pee-shy, 90% of the time opting to pee in a stall with the door closed instead of at a urinal. (My momma taught me not to show people my junk in public! But then, she also taught me that I should marry a girl and make babies… Looks like we’re battin’ .500 here, Ma!) And though it’s a touchy subject to discuss, and certainly an odd subject to publish on the Internet, I’m reluctant to “go number two” with other people in the bathroom.
Don’t get me STARTED on women who insist on going to the bathroom in groups. I cannot fathom how they can routinely do that, much less why they’d CHOOSE to.
So yeah, I’m a guy who likes a little bathroom privacy. At work, I try to avoid trips to the bathroom in the last ten minutes of any given hour… That’s when people’s meetings and conference calls get out a little early, and they rush to the bathroom before their next appointment. I try to avoid going during the noon hour altogether. I’m a little OCD about it, as I am with lots of silly little things.
Imagine my horror, then, when yesterday afternoon I’m in the bathroom, and I hear someone walk in… Having a conversation…
Of course my natural inclination was to simply wait him out. Like I did in my hostage scenario referenced above, I decided I’d just chill for a minute and let the crazy man do his bidness and leave.
Sadly, that plan was destined to fail.
After three or four minutes of hearing this guy talk to himself, in nearly indecipherable muttered English, it was obvious he had no intentions of going anywhere. He was the janitor, or custodian, or whatever the correct term is in 2008. And he was HANGING OUT in the men’s room, leisurely mopping the floor, loading paper towels into the dispenser (I swear he was doing them one at a time to drag it out), etc…
And talking on his Bluetooth headset.
I. Could. Have. Died.
Dude’s hangin’ out in the bathroom. On the phone. Talking.
There should be laws.