Why you shouldn’t have a fight on the phone with your husband in the bathroom at work.

Posted on September 21, 2010


This is a true story. It happened but an hour ago. If you’re easily grossed out or don’t like people talking about bodily functions, or overhearing spouses fighting on the phone, I recomend you go read something else.


So, I got to work at my usual time, 7am, this morning. After filling up my coffee cup, getting a bowl of yogurt, and turning on my computer, I felt nature calling. And not the liquid calling of one too many cups of coffee either, if you catch my drift. But I wasn’t worried. It was only 7:15 in the morning. Surely the bathroom would be devoid of people, as it is most mornings at that hour, and I could do my business in quiet, unhurried comfort.

So without a second thought, I pushed  back my chair and stood up with gusto and purpose. I did the slow “extra-confident” walk across the office, you know, the one that drunks do to convince people they are sober, and people on the way to the bathroom do to convince others that they aren’t in the midst of an embarassing bodily function (the drawback, of course, is that it takes twice as long to get where you’re going). I finally made my way to the bathroom after confidently walking/convincing the one other person in my office at that hour that I was “A #1 OK,” and opened the door to my salvation. (And before I go too much further, I should explain that our bathroom is on of those large institutional affairs with two rooms, a loby/locker room in the front with a couch and chairs, that you pass through to get to the business section in the back.)

I pushed open the swinging door into the mecca of bodily relief, and sitting there on the couch in the front section of the bathroom was a middle-aged lady from the office across the hall. She was on the phone. And she was crying, and having an argument. Well, if I was uncomfortable before, I was even more so now. But I didn’t have time to pass too much judgement, or ask myself questions like “Why is she doing this in the BATHROOM? Why not out in her car?” At that particular moment, thinking was a luxury I just didn’t have time for.

I passed by crying lady, making sure it was clear why I was there – that I had business to attend to and had no interest in her phone call AT ALL. Why make the situation any more embarassing for either of us than it had to be? Thank god for those two years I spent living in the dormatory in college. That’s where I learned how to do my earthly duty (doodie? hee hee hee) in the midst of just about any/every emotional crisis on the female landscape. I was prepared.

Apparently crying lady wasn’t even so much as flustered by my appareance. She just kept right on sniffling and wheezing and yelling in time with my…other sounds. I couldn’t help but giggle as I pretended that she was actually having a conversation with ME, and not her lazy good-for nothing husband. It pretty much sounded something like this (and keep in mind…this was at 7:15 am. Who fights with their spouse that early in the morning, in the bathroom, at work?):

Crying Lady: “I can’t help that you don’t have a job. But I spend all day at work, and I’m tired of doing everything myself.”
Me: “PPPpppppbbbbbtthhh.”
Crying Lady: “But after a long day at work, and then cooking dinner, I don’t think I should have to mow the lawn.”
Me: “pppppppppppPPPPbbbbbbbt-plop.”
Crying Lady: “God! It’s like you just never listen to me anymore. I thought we were supposed to be a team.”
Me: “Plop plop. ppptth. pth. plip!”

Then I finished up, washed my hands, and walked out, taking special care not to make any eye contact. I couldn’t help but think that whether she was arguing with her husband or my bodily functions, either way, crying lady was destined to have an argument with a loud smelly a**hole who doesn’t mow the lawn. But at least my a**hole gets up and goes to work every day.

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