So I work in this old historic building. We share it with another company. And while we remain fairly separate, there is one element in which we are all forced together: the bathroom.
While the bathroom has been the source of a few stories for me before, I think this story is on a different plain.
I will preface this story by saying this: When I’m in the bathroom, that is MY time. Time for me. Not only to do what I’ve gotta do, but also to reflect and enjoy one or two precious moments of silence and savor the time that I do not have to talk or interact with anyone else. I’m not ashamed (okay, maybe a little) to admit that I like to wait until everyone else has left the bathroom before I will emerge from my stall. I hope to avoid those awkward conversations at the sink where you feel the need to say things like “Morning” or “Brr! Sure is a cold one today, eh?” These are only slightly worse than those pre-stall meetings where you see someone you DO indeed work with, and they feel the need to talk to you as you conduct business (see stall talkers).
Anyway. The women at the other office here are a little…how can I say this…snooty. There are several attractive younger women and a few older women, and I always feel as if they look at me with such disdain when I’m entering the bathroom. Which is funny, considering I know what everyone goes into said room to do, and no matter how great and wonderful they think they are, they are not above (for lack of a better way to put it) going number two. They have a large set of drawers alongside the wall in the vestibule type area of the bathroom, each of which is labeled with their names (yeah, I looked. Sue me.) in which they can put personal effects. And there is one thing it seems they all have—a toothbrush.
I don’t know this because I looked in every drawer, but instead I know this because they are always. Brushing. Their. Teeth. Always. I ‘m not sure if they all have really bad teeth or if they are all just that concerned with good oral hygiene.
Again, I digress. Excessive brushing is not at the heart of the story, though the bathroom behavior of my neighbors is. Just this morning, I was in the bathroom, minding myself and reveling in the silence that had settled in. I hear someone walk in. However, this person does not go to a stall. I hear her rummaging around in the drawers. Then she goes over to the sink to settle in. I sigh, knowing she won’t be leaving any time soon. Little did I know that this lady in the loo would be taking commandeering the commode (oh, yeah. Check that alliteration.) to a whole new level.
As I exit the roomy handicapped stall that I am so fond of, I see that this woman (yes, woman, older, gray hair, so-so appearance) is not only brushing her teeth, but there is a makeup bag with various products strewn about on the counter and she has plugged up a curling iron. It was 1130! And yes, I said woman. She was older than my mother, but concerned enough that her dark silvery locks didn’t have that voluminous bounce as did the youngsters in her office. So concerned that she felt the need to curl her hair in the community bathroom, even though we were well into our 8-hour workday. I mean really.
Have any of you ever encountered something…strange in the bathroom?