With a little one who just turned 3, it’s a constant theme around our place to make sure that he’s not too preoccupied with playing and help him to remember to swing by the potty every now and again. He’s definitely getting better and accidents are now fewer and further between, thankfully.
Sadly, I see myself trending in the other direction for the foreseeable future. Nope, not having issues with forgetting to go but after an unfortunate incident yesterday here at the office, I’m putting it all on hold.
Our office is great. We have two bathrooms, each being single-occupant facilities – always clean, a sink to wash up, and lockable doors. Perfect situation for a guy with PPS.
Prior to heading out for a lunch meeting yesterday, I scuttled upstairs to handle my business quickly. The restroom doors are normally closed in our office, this particular incident was no different. As per my norm, I went with the restroom on the left and quickly realized the handle was locked. No issue, happened before, just a quick spin around and the door directly across the hall; a change of scenery this time around. Grabbed the handle, gave it a turn down and proceeded to take my first step.
It was at this moment – the moment where the door was ajar about forty percent – where I realized that all things were not kosher. It happens, sometimes you find yourself making your way into a previously used restroom only to find that the previous tenant must be reliving a rough night of Mexican food or Indian cuisine. It’s by no means enjoyable but alas, understandable. Unfortunately this was not my fate.
Instead of haphazardly entering the remnant of a previous visitor (which at this moment seems like a dream situation), I stumbled right into the previous visitor herself. Seated. In her glory given by God and her trousers from her pantsuit around her ankles. An image now so firmly burned into my mind that a third degree burn looks like fun.
With the grace of Fred Astaire, I politely apologized, closed the door, walked briskly back down the stairs, and explained to Ryan how we would probably need to be spending the rest of the afternoon looking for new office space.
After re-enacting this situation in my mind more times than I’d like, I think I’ve convinced myself that I’m not to blame here. Yes, I failed to make the common sense and courteous move of knocking but the key element missed here – and probably my favorite feature about our shared restrooms – is that the lockable door was in fact, not locked. Sadly, even though I’ve absolved myself from the blame, I’m pretty sure I’m as embarrassed as the not-so-young administrative assistant upstairs.
Furthermore, it has left me in a situation where I’m at my desk at 11:20AM and have yet to venture upstairs to even try again. I am now holding it. Hoping that I don’t do damage to my internal organs by waiting until I make it home for lunch.
So, Keegan, if this gets archived and you someday find yourself with the opportunity to read it – don’t hold it. It hurts, it probably does long term damage, and it puts you at risk of embarrassing yourself when you have to make a walk anywhere with wet pants. Instead, use the knuckles God gave you to knock on that door every time. If nothing else, It’ll save you having to up your rent for a new office location.