The Phantom Menace

I’ve been working here for just over a month now. By my count, this is my 30th business day at Save De Puppehs Inc. Let’s say each day I visit the rest room approximately four times. I realize that is a conservative estimate considering that I daily drink between 72 and 90 oz of water. Each visit lasts an average of four minutes including seating, pep talking, action, flushing, hand washing, hair primping and checking my teeth for bits of food. So, by the end of today, I will have spent a grand total so far of 480 minutes, eight working hours or one business day in the ladies room, a world of unwritten rules and never-ending scandal.

Every restroom has its share of villainous characters. In the past, you’ve heard about Bertha, Amy Winehouses’ doppelganger and Happy Friday. Now I’d like to introduce you to my new arch nemesis, The Phantom Menace, whose crime is possibly the worst one possible in a girls’ room: she has left many a stall looking like a murder scene. Even I won’t describe the gory details of the things I’ve seen lately. I don’t want to give you nightmares. Suffice it to say, she doesn’t clean up after herself.

I’ve always wondered what goes through the minds of these exhibitionists. Why leave it all there for the world to see? If you’re so proud of it, take a goddamn picture and hang it up on your refrigerator at home. We (the collective WE of the rest of the building) are not so interested.

The collective WE made this known by complaining to every office and building manager who would listen until they 1) sent an awkward email around about cleanliness 2) taped the email up around the bathroom and 3) when the notices were ripped down and EVERY SINGLE one of our four stalls was systematically violated in retaliation, posted the message in protective Plexiglas sign holders on the inside of every stall door at eye level.

It wasn’t until I was scanning the memo for the n-millionth time this morning that I locked on a certain phrase: “Management has been receiving numerous complaints for several weeks now.” Several weeks. Not “countless” and not “a few.” Several. I’ve been working here several weeks. OH GOD! DOES EVERYONE THINK IT’S ME!?!

Now, I know it’s not me perpetrating these acts of egregious toilet violence, but in my egocentric, hypochondriac mind, I now assume that others have made the same connection in time period with a different conclusion. This is currently my worst fear in life next to zombies, sharks and serial killers all of whom might be hiding under my bed at any given moment.

To make matters worse, I only feel guilty about something when I HAVEN’T done anything wrong. I can look a man in the eye and tell the most shameful lies on the planet without a flicker of the truth passing across my face. But if I’m telling the truth, I will look like the guiltiest suspect in the lineup. I felt personally at fault for the oil spill in the Gulf. The same thing happens when I take a sick day at work. If I’m really under the weather, I spend all day feeling like I’m not ill enough to stay home and thinking I’m a bad person for not going to the office. If I’m playing hooky, I don’t give it a second thought. Yes, this is all ludicrous. Does not change the fact that I look and feel responsible when I’m not to blame.

So, how do I unsully my good name and keep the others from potentially pointing the finger at me? I could just stand on my desk and loudly proclaim it’s not me or I could send a mass email to the same effect. Either way, people might want to pursue the topic in conversation and I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from looking guilty so that option’s out. I could offer to have a security guard follow me to the girls’ room and check my stall after I’ve completed my business. But I get such bad stage fright that I would sooner wait till the end of the day to use the lavatory. Maybe I could just stop drinking water during the day!

The possibilities are limitless. I’ve brainstormed around 50 and stopped myself before the spiral of irrational thought got out of control. But I won’t be the victim here. For once though, I intend on staying in a job for more than 15 minutes. Time is on my side for a change. I’ll be right here, Ms. Menace. I’ll be watching out the crack in my stall and running out after you if I don’t hear a flush when you leave. Your secret is no longer safe. I will find you. You’ve irked the wrong neurotic observer of strict bathroom etiquette.

When You Assume...

Everyone at my new job is super friendly, even the people from the other company on our floor. I’m getting used to smiling at people in the hallway instead of turning my body sideways to avoid coming in contact with the air they’ve been breathing. The next time I visit my Dad in South Carolina, I’m SO not going to freak out when a stranger greets me in the street.

So, I was pretty surprised when I said good morning to an unfamiliar face coming out of our shared kitchen and she just gave me one of those contemptuous why-are-you-talking-to-me smiles. I brought it up to my coworkers at lunch later that day and they laughed and told me there’s a deaf girl in the next office over and said it was probably her.

(The following isn’t really relevant to the story as I’m just using this scenario to introduce how I came to find out about the deaf girl but I have to share it anyway. The lunch conversation continued and my description of the unfriendly stranger with a short black bob didn’t match the description of the purported deaf girl with long light brown hair usually worn in a high ponytail. I saw the bobbed girl later. She’s an intern in my office WHO CAN HEAR PERFECTLY FINE. BITCH.)

Regardless, I bumped into the REAL deaf girl coming out of the ladies’ room last week. This time I knew it was actually her because when she opened the door and almost hit me in the face, she said sorry but kind of in that Helen Keller voice like “sah-reh.” After thinking that, I immediately ran into a stall to berate myself for my insensitivity and make up for it by mentally complimenting how cute her dress was. It really was. I’m not just making that up. Then I started wondering if dressing particularly cute was some sort of visual overcompensation and I had to change the topic in my head because I don’t even MEAN to think these things. They just happen whether I want them to or not and I frequently feel bad about them.

A few days ago, she was in front of me walking into the bathroom in yet another adorable dress – a pink one with big Hawaiian flowers. We seated ourselves and she immediately ripped ass. Instead of panicking and leaving the room like I usually would, I realized that despite our rocky start, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. For once, I could (and DID) take a wiz without the stage fright of someone listening in and judging the quantity of my wiz or audible speed of release. I even contributed a little gas of my own and there we were, tooting along in our own little bathroom jamboree while I imagined a movie montage of us laughing while drinking coffee on a park bench and window shopping for really cute dresses on our lunch break. Amidst my reverie, she left the bathroom and I was sadly left to wash my hands alone.

I walked back down the hallway to my office still lost in my own personal thoughts when who should appear out of the kitchen with a cup of water but my new office BFF! She smiled in return to my greeting and we parted ways. It wasn’t until I was back at my cube before I realized that when she was leaving the kitchen, she was wearing a blue toile dress. Not a pink one. I’d mistaken someone else’s ponytail for her signature look and got so caught up thinking about her wardrobe that I didn't even look at her face.

And this is why I have such a hard time making new friends.