Bathroom Follies

I often make the mistake of waiting too long before heading to the bathroom. Typically, I get so engrossed with what I'm doing that I barely notice that I'm shifting from side to side or sitting awkwardly on my leg to put off the inevitable. Then, suddenly, the bladder signals the brain that its load has hit critical mass, and I sprint for the bathroom with all deliberate speed. I burst through the door, fumble frantically with the latch, then tear down my zipper with less than two seconds to spare. Crisis narrowly averted.

During my second week at a new job, I was sprinting to the bathroom in a mad rush. When I get to the bathroom, I find there's a line (oh god). After a few, highly uncomfortable moments, the extra-wide handicap-accessible stall is freed (thank god), and I run in. As usual, I fumble with the lock, then rush to the toilet. Because I fumble with the lock, I don't properly align the lock mechanism with the door. As I'm sitting on the toilet with my pants undone, I see the door begin to slip from the latch. Because the door is several feet away -- further than my reach -- I can't do anything to stop it. Before I can breathlessly utter "Oh...no..," the door swings wide open, and I see, to my horror, that that there's still a line of my co-workers in the bathroom and I've just exposed myself to them all.


* I felt like I needed to add in a picture of a toilet to go with the theme of today's post. The only picture I have on hand is this photo of a "squat toilet" from Taiwan which, for all practical purposes, is a kind of bathroom folly all on its own.