Pipe Dreams

I was sitting in my stall in the restroom at work, you know, doing my thing, happily tapping my feet, when I noticed the feet of my neighbor in the stall to my right. And for the first time, I realized a downside to my new tattoo: that I am very easily identified in the restrooms at work.

It's no secret that I've got issues with using the restroom at work, but I've learned to get around these issues, mainly by having a strict number-one-only policy, but also by slipping in and out as quickly as possible while still being as sanitary as possible, thereby maintaining my anonymity as much as possible. As far as my coworkers know, I never use the restroom. Which is gross in its own way, but not nearly as gross as the alternative: that I actually DO use the restroom.

I know. It's silly. But when you work at a company with hundreds of beautiful people, saving face becomes more important than it was when I worked at a church in the Christian Education wing of the building and had a whole little-person restroom all to myself most days. The smallness wasn't great, but at least I could do my business alone.

My restroom anxieties increased exponentially a few weeks ago when they shut down the restrooms on our floor for remodeling. Sure, the new stone floor, solid-wood stall doors, and fancy ceramic sinks will be great, but now all floor 29-ers now are faced with two options: take the elevator to floor 28 or 30 to use the restroom, or take the stairs to floor 28 or 30 to use the restroom. The stairs are much quicker, but anytime you see someone from your floor in those dark stairwells, you get a sly grin, and a "whatcha doin' here?" At first, I'd flash the gun-fingers while saying something appallingly silly like "fancy meeting you here" to disperse the horrid awkwardness of SOMEONE KNOWING I'M EITHER GOING TO OR COMING BACK FROM THE RESTROOM, OH MY GOD. Occasionally, one of us would say something like, "this sucks, huh?" and the other person would agree. Now, after several weeks of this (when will the remodeling EVER be done?), we vaguely grunt to each other. Or just avoid eye contact altogether, which is the route I've come to prefer.

Gradually, I've overcome my need to slip in and out quickly, mostly because it's impossible. But now, with a highly recognizable tattoo on the only part of my body visible from under the stall, it's all shot to hell. So if you happen to find yourself in a stall to the right of this:

minus, you know, all the superfluous ink, feel free to say hello. You just might embarrass the pee out of me.