There are no words to express the horror that's involved with restroom activities at work. Comradeships at the urinals? No... that's just stupid, creepy and awkward. A tell all in the powder room? No, too much estrogen... one too many times of sharing personal tidbits and robo-bitch evolves. Next thing you know an EMT member is rushing Sally downtown to get the tampon dislodged from her ear and Penny has just been paged to the human resource office.

The toilet is a very uncomfortable experience for me if there's another body in my presence.
Am I passing inspection?
Why are you standing so close to me?
JEEBUS! What the fuck is that smell?
There are far too many variables associated with the public to really allow me to just relax, which is why I will travel the additional 431 steps to the nearest single stall, locking door, completely private restroom. Sure I may look rather odd race walking past the cube farms patting that brim of sweat off my forehead, but in the end it's completely worth the trouble.

On the flip side of that completely private, single stall, locking door restroom someone could be on the other side waiting for you to vacate. We've all been there before, that body that's twitching nervously because I can't fucking wait anymore! patiently and understandingly waiting for some poor soul to relieve themselves. When the door opens there are a few scenarios that can unravel.

A. The occupant opens the door, looks you in the eye and begins chattering about the weather or what not.
B. The occupant opens the door, stares at the floor, races by you, and an entourage of powerful fumes gust past your now watering eyes.
C. The occupant flings the door open and in a coughing fit they discourage you from using that facility, proclaiming that a small bomb erupted within those four ceramic walls.
D. The occupant slowly opens the door and a shower of shitty flowers sweet potpourri fills your nostrils to the point of intoxication as the nice old lady from general accounting greets you and adjusts her pants as she complacently walks to her cube.

In any case... I DO NOT want to be the occupant. So when the serious urge overwhelms me to take a dump, shadooby, shit load off I take extra precautions to avoid the hassle and possible embarrassment of some asshole ruining it someone standing outside the door.

I plan for this exercise like it's an Olympic event. My goal, strategy, and mindset are all going for the gold... providing my body is in check with these arrangements. My mind races over which bathroom to occupy.. by weighing the populous of the area with the density of my urges I decide I will use the women's stalls in the back section of the manufacturing shop, and my reasoning for this is fairly simple. There are 3 female employees that work in the shop, all of which have gone home or work closer to the other shop facilities. The idea of it all is so simple it's perfect as long as no one sees me going in or coming out of the restroom, which they shouldn't since it's late in the afternoon and the skeleton night crew is now aboard. What's the worst that could happen aside from a fire drill, tornado drill, or a "postal" episode drill?

There I sat... pants around my ankles, cell phone in hand, not a care in the world. I am in the final stages of completing my conquest when the door wings open. Startled with panic and fear I slap my phone shut, jam it into my pockets and instinctively clutch onto my pants. A ridiculously loud clatter rolls closer and closer as the brink of my sanity begins to fade. And in one clean slicing action my ideas of peaceful serenity and "What's the worst that could happen" ...is demolished. KAPUT, DESTROYED, GONE, POOF. A delicate voice "OH! I'm sorry girl... I'll wait for you to come out before I start spraying this place clean.. "

WHAT THE FUCK? When did the cleaning department change their hours? Apparently they did this back in June when the mommas just shy of heat stroke couldn't take the heat anymore, and it's easier for them to clean the restrooms between 5 and 9 because nobody is using them, and what the hell am I gonna do now? Great, i'm not only going to get my ass chewed by a 58 year old woman for using the ladies, but I will also have to contend with her enormous fucking mouth gossiping habits.

Do I just compose myself, clear my throat and pronounce I must be a complete fucking moron bit confused because I couldn't tell the difference between the blue "MENS" and the huge pink sign that said "WOMENS". That sounds reasonable, doesn't it?

Needless to say, the last few days the bubbly housekeeping lady hasn't said much to me lately. She usually at least smiled and waved to the "handsome little devil" she just "adores", but no... now she won't even look at the "disgusting bastard!" "poor illiterate mook."