Years ago, I worked for a company called APIC (which still exists). The big director at the time was a guy named Chris L. (can't give his last name because this story is kind of embarrassing). Chris and I were on fairly friendly terms, to the point where I could make jokes about his native Canada, and he'd respond with good humor.
Chris occasionally tended, as I did, to stay late at the office. I was stationed in a tall-walled cubicle near the geographic center of our national office—right by the open space with the elevators and the spot for the secretary/receptionist/greeter. Chris's big-boss office, a corner office, was down at one end of the building's floor, so late at night, he and I would never really see each other, although we might randomly cross paths if we had to walk from one place to another for whatever reason.
One night, a primal urge took me out of my cubicle and toward Chris's end of the floor. I was heading toward our office's private bathroom, but as I got closer, I saw that the door was open. When I was right at the bathroom's door, I heard someone inside, and I knew it could only be Chris because, that night, it was just him and me. I think he didn't realize that I was still in the office that night—so, relaxed, he had decided to have himself a nice dump with the bathroom door hanging wide open.
Chris had been shuffling about a bit as I approached, but once I stopped right at the bathroom door, he went totally silent, so I knew he'd heard my footsteps. Our floor was carpeted, but late at night, with no one around, you become sensitive to even the smallest noises.
So, for a few seconds, Chris and I were trapped in an awkward tableau: he was stuck on the toilet, probably in mid-dump, petrified that I might walk the rest of the way into the bathroom (the toilet itself was shielded from immediate view by a little wall that created a niche). I was stock still outside the bathroom, slowly realizing that it might be a good idea to give poor Chris his space. That realization took a few seconds to blossom, but when it finally did, I beat a hasty retreat back to my cubicle (no, I never saw Chris) and decided to call it a night.
I can only hope Chris learned a lesson, that night, about letting down your guard without first confirming you're alone. No open-door dumps!
Bizarrely, immediately prior to reading this post, I was taking care of business in my bathroom. And I was actually thinking that one of the benefits of living alone was not having to close my door. Then I thought about how embarrassing it would be if my helper walked in to clean. Well, still too early for her to be up and about, but I'll have to be more careful if an afternoon urge should arise.
ReplyDeleteCall me old-fashioned, but I always close the door when I am in the water closet, even when I am sure I am alone. Is that odd? I mean, I don't understand why you would want to leave the door open. I must be missing something.
ReplyDeleteCharles,
ReplyDeleteWhen I was a kid, our family was pretty relaxed about everything when there were no guests around. Bathroom doors would be open; people would casually walk around naked; farts and belches would reverberate. I remember telling my buddy Steve about this when we were teens, and he was shocked. In his household, no one ever saw anyone else naked, ever. That sounded really weird and repressed to me.
Then again, as pertains specifically to the matter of closing the door when on the bog (if we're going to insist on Britishisms), that could be taken as a matter of simple civility so as not to share one's fragrances with others. In fact, in our house, we went through phases: sometimes, we'd close the door (and even lock it); at other times, we'd leave the door open. During the times when we kids would lock the door, it became our mission to learn how to pick the bathroom-door locks. I'd be sitting on the pot when I'd hear the sound of picking happening. I'd yell out a plaintive "Noooo!" and be answered by the sound of a little brother cackling. And sometimes, I'd be the one picking the lock, and David or Sean would be one screaming, "Noooo!"