Friday, May 16, 2008

bathroom follies

My cube at my current gig is conveniently located between 2 bathrooms. Niiiice. The one on my left is a ladies' room, with 2 stalls and the necessary wicker loveseat upon which to drape oneself when one has an attack of the vapors.

It's pretty average as bathrooms go, but the design of the toilet bowl is such that half the time you drop toilet paper in there, it doesn't go down with the water. It clings, screaming, to the side. This is kind of gross, especially when you go to use the thing and someone else's toilet paper is still stuck to the side. People don't want reminders that other people may have used the bathroom before them. The solution for those who don't wish to offend, perhaps, is to reach down into the toilet and give the stubborn toilet paper a shove, and then wash one's hands thoroughly afterward. Or try to sneak out before anyone knows you've been in there.

And stop spraying that Airwick! We know what you're doing in there, and yeah, it's as gross for us as it is for you. But the Airwick just adds insult to injury, if you ask me.

The bathrooms on the right are for whoever gets in there first.

About 10 most mornings, the smell of extinguished matches wafts around the corner and into my cube. I discussed it with one of the writers yesterday.

"Yo. What is UP with the matches? I mean, who does that at work? What's the point? Like that smell is any more pleasant than what he left behind? Why not just open up a can of tuna or crack open some hard-boiled eggs while you're in there? Or just bring some stinky cheese in with you?"

"I think it's some guy from accounting."

"Big guy? Glasses? Slovenly?"

"Yeah."

Hmmmm. Is this the same guy who I've heard coughing up a lung in those bathrooms on several occasions, late in the afternoon, when perhaps he thinks everyone has left?

I mean, it's like he's being exorcised in there, coughing up hairballs or choking on big chunks of bad meat or something. Like he was going to fucking die. So much so that the first time I heard it, I very nearly called 911.

The cleaning woman was on the other side of my cube. She heard it too one day. She peeked around my cubbie.

"Did you HEAR that?" I asked.

"Yeah. Guy sounds like he's dying."

I mean, hacking and coughing and choking and ...well, I think of Kane, in Alien, when the thing pops out of his stomach. That's what I imagine is going on in the bathroom when this guy is in there.

This has happened a few times, so I finally popped my head up out of my cubbie like a whack-a-mole to see him. That's the dude, breathing heavily. The slovenly fat dude from accounting.

Every company has one.

Thankfully, he kept his matches to himself.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Wow. I guess cubes are like real estate...location, location, location.
I have no up-side for you having to work near the bathrooms. I'm even the tiniest bit surprised that you've seen the inside enough to describe it.
H.

carey said...

Yeah, me too; I mean, I live close enough to the place; I could just break my lunch hour into 15-minute chunks to go home and use my own.

The worst part is...the ones on my right--the ones the guy uses--are directly next to the tiny kitchen cubbie. Yuck. Like, the coffee pot is maybe 5 feet from the toilet.

Anonymous said...

Gross. I guess you can always bring your coffee in with you.
H.