Tuesday, November 14, 2006

This Explains Why I Consume A Pound of Twizzlers Every Day. And Why My Mother Cries A Lot.

I walked into the restroom this morning and saw that Rusty the Bathroom Bailiff had taped this sign to the wall, which is creepy on so many levels.

How long has someone been listening to me pee? While my bodily functions don’t sound like a hand dryer, they do sound very much like a contestant buzzing in with an answer on Press Your Luck. Sometimes I do shout “No whammies! No whammies!” but that’s only during sex.

What happens if your, um, transaction takes longer to complete than one push of the button? Because now whoever’s listening in said adjacent room knows that as soon as the dryer starts, someone’s, uh, making a deposit and sometimes, you know, you don’t remember your account number, the teller goes on break, the drive-through canister gets stuck… OK, this metaphor sucks. BB&T is a shitty bank though. HA! You see what I did there? With the poop and stuff? The way I brought it full circle? That’s talent.

God, I’m so alone.

Yesterday I passed a new employee on her way out of the bathroom. She didn’t make eye contact and after stepping through door I realized why. Whatever she did in there will be listed in the birth announcements next Sunday. Look, when you start at a new company, you should probably wait at least a week before you absolutely destroy the restroom. Especially if it’s so heinous it activates the sensors on the paper towel dispensers forcing the other employees to wade through the equivalent of The Historian to reach a stall.

I hope someone keys her car. Or gives her an unfortunate nickname, more unfortunate than her previous one, “Granny Clampett if She Shopped at JC Penney’s and Wore A Lot of Tapered-Leg Arizona Jeans”. Yes, I’m the only one who ever called her that.

Personally, I can’t take care of business at work. I only listen to Bachman-Turner Overdrive at home, if you know what I’m saying. (If you don’t, I’m talking about pooping.) Nor do I think anyone else should unless they spent their lunch hour eating a manatee.

That doesn’t mean I’m above tormenting those who do, because women hate for anyone to be in the bathroom with them. As soon as the door opens, they’ll brace themselves with those parallel bars in the stall, holding their breath like Anne Frank in the attic and waiting for the threat to leave so they can unclench their colon and get back to reading the can of Neutra-Air or counting the tiles on the floor or whatever entertainment the intruder has interrupted.

If I notice that someone's hiding in a stall, I’ll stay at the vanity either grooming my cuticles, building a card house, or treating myself for lice, forcing the pooper to sit in miserable silence wishing that I would either leave or that they could fashion some sort of weapon out of the purse hook on the back of the door and use it to stab me in the head. After I’ve finished, say, sculpting an army of miniature terra-cotta soldiers, I return to my desk and hope that I’m not recognizable by my shoes. Then I eat a Twizzler.

Confidential to Myself: You should probably stop wearing your Pokémon slippers to work. Oh, and stop contracting lice.

If the tables are ever turned and someone catches me trying to flee the scene of the crime, there is only one option: sealing them permanently in the restroom, Cask of Amontillado-style. Then I’ll grab my bowl of Twizzlers and hand in my resignation. I just can’t forget to turn the dryer on.


Anonymous said...

Found you throgh Deadspin. Your writing tone made me believe that you were a man.

I was wrong.

So, so wrong.

How could something so right be so wrong?

How am I supposed to live without you now that I've loved you for so long?

Why don't you do what you do when you did what you did to me?

Push Button.
Receive Bacon.


Anonymous said...

Sorry, I tend to channel the spirit of Eudora Welty when I meet a blogger of like mind.

I'm David from Memphis and I like your blog.

August said...

the truth is most definitely stranger than fiction, lol! it's amazing to me what people do in their spare time, as with the bathroom sign. anyone who is listening to the bathroom activity obviously needs more work to do.

The Bird Man said...

In reading this post I laughed so hard I farted.