So yesterday afternoon a memo circulated around my office stating that, due to necessary replacement of a water main, our office wouldn’t have running water during working hours. And then there was a list of nearby places who would have running water that offered to let us pee at their building for the day instead.
Which basically should’ve led to me emailing my boss to tell him that I would not be at work on Wednesday. Or, more precisely, I’d be in NYC and about a block away from work, but in the nearby bathroom most of the day because I pee every hour since hydration is important and maybe my kidneys are malfunctioning due to over-watering? Either way, don’t expect productivity out of me today, career, because I’ll be busy remembering the three-digit passcode associated with the down-the-street bathroom on the 9th floor that inexplicably is passcode protected from all of none of the people who work on that floor (it’s an empty floor).
But I didn’t send such an email because I’d like to keep an air of professionalism, so instead, I put all of that embarrass yourself energy into panic-talking to the security guard at the front desk of the bathroom-rental building I have visited four times already today. And we all know I do this, the panic-talking thing, but why do I always feel the need to double-down and make it worse?
Me: “Hi, I’m just here from the building down the street and we were told we could use a bathroom on the 9th floor.”
Security guard: “Uh huh.”
Me: “Oh, ok, so it’s ok for me to go up? I don’t need to sign anything?”
SG: “No ma’am.”
Me, giggling for some reason?: “Oh ok, I guess that makes sense that I don’t have to sign in every time I want to pee.”
SG: staring at me.
Me: “Ok, so any elevator is fine?”
Me, pushing button and waiting. And sweating.
Me: “God, wouldn’t it be awful if I had IBS or something? Those poor people. I’d probably just not come to work.”
SG, cracking a smile: “That’d be bad.”
Me: “Right? I should be grateful I guess….That I’m not one of those people….Or that I don’t have a stomach bug--”
Me, thankfully getting on the elevator, doors closing: “Thanks!”
And then I went back three more times. And each time she would see me, she’d put her head down and pretend to be doing something else. As you do when you’ve really enjoyed your interaction with someone who can’t stop talking about potentially sh*tting their pants.
Anyway, if you’re peeing at your own leisure without inputting a passcode every time, consider today a success, people!
|My home away from work.|