The Middle Stall
July 1st, 2008I’ve never been one of those men who can rush into a crowded restroom, pull up shoulder to shoulder with a couple linebackers and let fly into a trough. Nope, I’m more of the type to stealthily peer around the corner, and ensure either total solitude or at least a two urinal buffer zone before I even begin with the unzipping.
Some days though, it seems as if all the gods conspire against me. No longer the age where they take the form of some barn-yard animal and copulate with some virtuous woman, no, they take the form of a man in blue crocs who refuses to exit the middle of 3 stalls.
It all started with a rumble, a bit of a notice - advance warning if you will, and decided it was time to make a quick excursion to scope out the situation. I head in, encountering a fierce WALL of that hot air with a smell so unpleasant I refuse to define it here. Two stalls occupied, leaving the handi-ree-ree stall available. I do not like the handi-stall. I had stepped in too far, and could have been noticed. I didn’t want to appear odd as though I just stepped in for a breather, so I went to a urinal and quickly finished a bit of business. I rushed out quickly, even avoiding the hand rinse because every moment I spent in there would be a much more severe detriment on my overall hygiene then a bit of water could help my hands.
I sat back down at my desk, hoping the rumble was in err. Something that would pass. Alas, after twenty minutes at my desk I knew there would be no avoiding it. I went back into the restroom, and there in the middle… Blue Crocs. He’d not yet left, and the issue was starting to become urgent. I walked with an expedited pace to the stairwell and went up to the fourth floor. Lo there I saw before me a covering of white dust and the hanging skeleton of an unfinished ceiling. The whole area was under construction. I ran down to the second floor and turned the corner just in time to see someone enter that bathroom. I had no choice, I went back to my floor.
In the bathroom, the man in the crocs must have setup some kind of internet connection and possibly satellite television because he showed no signs of leaving. Oddly, nor he didn’t even make any noises I would normally associate with being on a toilet for nearly 50 minutes. I sat down quietly and waited. I waited in hopes that he would soon leave, but little did I know that it would take an act of war for Mr. BlueCroc to finally allow me my peace. I waited. Patiently at first, but there is only so much waiting a man can do at that point. So I did what simply defines me. I flipped off his stall wall, cursed him and his lineage under my breath and then… Then… CRY HAVOC AND LET SLIP THE DOGS OF WAR!
With unabated urgency, BlueCroc lept up, made some commotion and washed his hands before FINALLY exiting my domain, defeated, injured, and punished. I emerged victorious, but at what cost?