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August 30, 2011

my diarrhea story

Actually, no bodily functions take place during this tale of woe.

I was managing a small all-female team at Microsoft. One of the perks of such gender distribution is that the men's room is an impenetrable refuge. An oasis. During moments when they were driving me insane, which is to say "weekdays," I would often grab a magazine and head into the men's room. Bliss.

On this occasion, two of the three stalls were occupied. The third stall was problematic, as it was

1. a handicapped stall that
2. was stopped up good and proper with what appeared to be the contents of a large yak's colon.

It was decision time.

"You know what your problem is?" I imagined Dorkass saying in my office. "Yep," I would reply, glaring at her, "But I can't imagine we're thinking about the same thing."

And so I lowered the lid on the noxious toilet and read my magazine.

Time passed. People shuffled in and out. I'll hazard that I was hiding in there for an hour. It had been deathly quiet for about 20 minutes when I decided to go back to my office. Reflexively, I flushed.

Suddenly remembering how stopped up the toilet was, I shot out of the stall. As its contents overflowed and splattered on the floor of the handicapped stall, I noticed the guy in the wheelchair who had been so silently waiting for me to finish my business. Pain and anger visibly coursed through his face.

There is no explaining this situation. I fled.

We worked in the same building for another year, and every time we made eye contact in the cafeteria, I knew what he was telling his friends.

"That's the guy."

posted by john at 10:49 AM  â€¢  permalink