Bathroom Story

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 8^th 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 8^th 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.