I sat at my desk yesterday
afternoon as the clock approached leaving time.
I felt an urge inside me that a person would normally feel after eating
food, and then that food is digested in chemical reactions, thus creating
different states of matter; mainly the focus here would be on gas. So I decided to take my problem to the
restroom on my way out of the building to pick up the kids and go home.
When I arrived at the restroom
there was a man using one of the urinals, and as far as comfortability went, I
wasn’t feeling any when it came to releasing my intestinal hostage and I
decided that I would wait until he left, but so as to not seem awkward I
decided to use the urinal. I stood
beside him and took my time as he was also taking his and my goal was to leave
after him rather than race him to the finish.
Even after I was technically done I stood a while longer just faking the
situation while he took his own sweet time and eventually finished. I called it a draw and chose instead to
outlast him at the sinks as we washed our hands.
You know, I always wondered how
many germs actually manage to get to the private areas, and how many of those
transfer to my hands while in the restroom.
Is washing hands always needed? I
say yes because I enjoy washing my hands every thirty to forty-five minutes of
keyboard use as those keys spend all their time touching germy hands. My restroom friend went to sink number three –
my favorite sink since it is least likely to expel boiling lava hot water –
which forced me to go to sink number one.
I moved deliberately slowly and thoroughly rinsed my hands before
reaching for soap. My restroom friend
was using the same technique as I monitored him through my peripherals.
I then decided that today was the
day I would follow the flu prevention flier and lather my hands for a full
thirty seconds in order to take longer and outlast this man. I noticed that my friend kept looking at
me. He was not looking directly at me,
but looking at me through the mirror, as if monitoring my progress the way I
monitored his. I made sure to soap every
square centimeter of my hands, reaching partway up my forearms and getting
every spot between each finger. My
friend somehow was taking exactly as long as me.
As the pressure that originally sent
me to the restroom was building inside of me I became frustrated and started
the rinsing process. Again I made sure
to miss no single cell of skin as I rinsed off the soap. My friend, who was quickly becoming my
nemesis, continued to monitor me through the mirror and also rinsed his hands
for a deliberately and wastefully long time.
My last chance was drying my
hands. I tore a paper towel off the
dispenser and waited until it returned another.
Then I tore off the second and waited for a third. After I acquired the third paper towel I
started drying every inch of my hands. I
was not to be successful, though, as my nemesis was taking a fourth, and then a
fifth paper towel and was sure to outlast me in the drying competition.
I gave up and left. I walked out of the restroom and down the
hallway to the stairs. Pressure built
even quicker as I participated in even the slightest bit of physical activity. My need to find privacy was more urgent and I
knew my first chance to relive the pressure with a minimum negative impact to
others was when I reached my floor in the parking ramp. I walked with a group of people to the ramp
and waited for the elevator that would carry me to the 8th
floor. I became noticeably uncomfortable
and twisted on one leg while I stood.
Eventually the elevator arrived and I boarded with several others who
would no doubt (and certainly did) make me stop on nearly every earlier floor
and delay the release of my pain.
Finally I reached the 8th
floor as the sole occupant of the elevator.
I walked out the door and made a quick check to see if anyone was there. Then I let it go. It was wonderful and disgusting. It sounded worse than the noise a cat makes
throwing up into an overflowing toilet.
It even lasted a full two seconds, which, if you think about it, is
actually a really long time for such an event.
And it was so, so relieving – for the first second. Unfortunately, in my hurry I didn’t notice
the sound of someone rushing up the stairs next to the elevator. Someone was a mere 15 feet behind me when I
did it.
I told myself not to turn around. Just keep walking, keep walking until I get
to my car. I couldn’t help it; I had to
know who it was. What if I know
them? What if I see them later and they
make a weird face at me? Who is this
person that now has the upper hand?
Please don’t let it be one of the women in the cubicle near mine, but
don’t look back! I turned around anyway. It was my restroom nemesis. Damnit.
