I guess every office has this issue, at least I would hope they do. Knowing that my building is singularly responsible for one of the most awkward human interactions ever performed would simultaneously make my chest swell with pride, and cause me to weep bitter tears of frustrated confusion. But I digress.
I have “Bathroom Buddies”. I didn’t want them, but they seemed to have found me and begun to cling to my person. Not in a parasitic fashion, mind you, but in the way that one girl in Junior High always clung to your group of friends. You know, the one with the funny red-framed glasses that went out of fashion in 1976, and the Mork ‘n’ Mindy t-shirt paired with pastel suspenders? With her hair in pigtails and sporting bangs that were basically waving their arms around and yelling, “Sweet Christ, can you tease me any larger!?”. That girl. The one you tolerated but secretly made fun of when she wasn’t around? Yeah, that’s kind of like what my bathroom Buddies do to me. I guess it’s sort of a reversal of fortune in a sense as I pretty much was that girl in Junior High. But ANYWAYS, “Bathroom Buddies”.
A “Bathroom Buddy” is much like what Turk and Dr. Cox became in that one episode of Scrubs (although Turk dubbed them “Pee Buddies”, but for the sake of copyright infringement I won’t use that phrase). It’s a person that, for some unexplained cosmic reason whose purpose is known solely by that higher power that orchestrates our lives, always ends up in the bathroom at the same time as you. It’s that one person who, no matter what time of day you sidle out of your cubicle and saunter into the bathroom always ends up in the stall next to you within thirty seconds of you locking that unfriendly metal door and placing the protective synthetic seat cover over that porcelain vestibule of germs and disease.
I, however fortunate you may deem this to be, seem to have acquired two “Bathroom Buddies” to accompany me through those most private duties. The first BB is the A.M. Buddy; a lawyer from next door who always looks pissed off and applies a ludicrous amount of gel to her waist length curly hair. She’s a Cougar-In-Training who, as I learned, saw the midnight showing of Sex In The City. She and I will never be real friends outside of our ill-conceived Lavoratorial Alliance. Also, she wears flower print skirts and pantsuits, two things by which I can never abide.
The second BB, the P.M. Buddy, is one of my superiors at work. This makes for “the awkward” on several levels. One, it provides said superior with ample opportunity to strike up the dreaded “chit-chat” over what I had foolishly hoped were lead lined, sound proof stall walls. I must say, it is downright impossible to hold a comfortable conversation with a superior over the cold and unfeeling barrier of a bathroom stall. Firstly, these walls are constructed primarily to prevent such breaches of privacy and to allow the user of said stall some sense of security as they sit with their rear fully exposed to the basin within which lurks God knows what bacteria and killer clowns. Secondly, who ever decided it was ok to chat within the safe confines of a bathroom? Granted, females are notorious for chatting away whilst in the bathroom, but why can we not instill the same etiquette found in the men’s room? Silence, and no eye/vocal/physical contact whilst doing your business. Waiting for a stall? Oh my goodness I LOVE your shoes/hair/nail polish/shirt. Washing hands? Fine, ask how my day is. Drying hands? Excellent, yes I have seen the most recent episode of (fill in the blank with whatever chick-type show is airing right now). Using the toilet to do my business? Iron curtain of silence, thank you very much.
The second reason why having my P.M. Buddy being my superior is awkward is this: The bathroom is an escape from my cubicle, office, co-workers and thought of the work I have/have not done. The bathroom should be a place of zen-like atmosphere, not a secondary water cooler location. I do not want to discuss So-and-So’s outfit, or Whatshernames job performance. Also, I enjoy having a bit of mystique about me in the office. The questioning looks and whispers that linger when I show up to work obviously hung-over and very pleased with myself are entertaining, yet when my superior joins me in the bathroom and asks me, “So, how was YOUR night last night?” This is something I do not enjoy.
All this having been said, dearest Bathroom Buddies, let us draw up a schedule of times and place them on a constant rotation so as to not meet each other for said awkward interaction. And, should we ever meet in that most sacred of water closets, please do not hide in the stall until I have left. I am not ashamed of my duties in the bathroom, and neither should you be. Especially when you are in the handicapped stall on the cell phone with your significant other. Trust me, we’ve all tucked ourselves away to have a private conversation, but I promise you the bathroom is probably not the best locale for said activity. For one, it echoes quite horribly in there, and for two…just…no. Don’t do it.
I have “Bathroom Buddies”. I didn’t want them, but they seemed to have found me and begun to cling to my person. Not in a parasitic fashion, mind you, but in the way that one girl in Junior High always clung to your group of friends. You know, the one with the funny red-framed glasses that went out of fashion in 1976, and the Mork ‘n’ Mindy t-shirt paired with pastel suspenders? With her hair in pigtails and sporting bangs that were basically waving their arms around and yelling, “Sweet Christ, can you tease me any larger!?”. That girl. The one you tolerated but secretly made fun of when she wasn’t around? Yeah, that’s kind of like what my bathroom Buddies do to me. I guess it’s sort of a reversal of fortune in a sense as I pretty much was that girl in Junior High. But ANYWAYS, “Bathroom Buddies”.
A “Bathroom Buddy” is much like what Turk and Dr. Cox became in that one episode of Scrubs (although Turk dubbed them “Pee Buddies”, but for the sake of copyright infringement I won’t use that phrase). It’s a person that, for some unexplained cosmic reason whose purpose is known solely by that higher power that orchestrates our lives, always ends up in the bathroom at the same time as you. It’s that one person who, no matter what time of day you sidle out of your cubicle and saunter into the bathroom always ends up in the stall next to you within thirty seconds of you locking that unfriendly metal door and placing the protective synthetic seat cover over that porcelain vestibule of germs and disease.
I, however fortunate you may deem this to be, seem to have acquired two “Bathroom Buddies” to accompany me through those most private duties. The first BB is the A.M. Buddy; a lawyer from next door who always looks pissed off and applies a ludicrous amount of gel to her waist length curly hair. She’s a Cougar-In-Training who, as I learned, saw the midnight showing of Sex In The City. She and I will never be real friends outside of our ill-conceived Lavoratorial Alliance. Also, she wears flower print skirts and pantsuits, two things by which I can never abide.
The second BB, the P.M. Buddy, is one of my superiors at work. This makes for “the awkward” on several levels. One, it provides said superior with ample opportunity to strike up the dreaded “chit-chat” over what I had foolishly hoped were lead lined, sound proof stall walls. I must say, it is downright impossible to hold a comfortable conversation with a superior over the cold and unfeeling barrier of a bathroom stall. Firstly, these walls are constructed primarily to prevent such breaches of privacy and to allow the user of said stall some sense of security as they sit with their rear fully exposed to the basin within which lurks God knows what bacteria and killer clowns. Secondly, who ever decided it was ok to chat within the safe confines of a bathroom? Granted, females are notorious for chatting away whilst in the bathroom, but why can we not instill the same etiquette found in the men’s room? Silence, and no eye/vocal/physical contact whilst doing your business. Waiting for a stall? Oh my goodness I LOVE your shoes/hair/nail polish/shirt. Washing hands? Fine, ask how my day is. Drying hands? Excellent, yes I have seen the most recent episode of (fill in the blank with whatever chick-type show is airing right now). Using the toilet to do my business? Iron curtain of silence, thank you very much.
The second reason why having my P.M. Buddy being my superior is awkward is this: The bathroom is an escape from my cubicle, office, co-workers and thought of the work I have/have not done. The bathroom should be a place of zen-like atmosphere, not a secondary water cooler location. I do not want to discuss So-and-So’s outfit, or Whatshernames job performance. Also, I enjoy having a bit of mystique about me in the office. The questioning looks and whispers that linger when I show up to work obviously hung-over and very pleased with myself are entertaining, yet when my superior joins me in the bathroom and asks me, “So, how was YOUR night last night?” This is something I do not enjoy.
All this having been said, dearest Bathroom Buddies, let us draw up a schedule of times and place them on a constant rotation so as to not meet each other for said awkward interaction. And, should we ever meet in that most sacred of water closets, please do not hide in the stall until I have left. I am not ashamed of my duties in the bathroom, and neither should you be. Especially when you are in the handicapped stall on the cell phone with your significant other. Trust me, we’ve all tucked ourselves away to have a private conversation, but I promise you the bathroom is probably not the best locale for said activity. For one, it echoes quite horribly in there, and for two…just…no. Don’t do it.
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