Like many, I occasionally venture beyond the second floor of my office building to take care of business. My company shares an office building with multiple businesses, and it’s normal to have some cross-pollination. Sometimes you have poor timing and end up getting denied by the custodian. Other times you walk into a full house. Or maybe the people on your floor are just nasty, and you need to find a respectable place to burn twelve minutes. All seem like completely valid reasons to stray. Well, apparently not, as I happened to live out my own personal Larry David moment while encountering the most territorial son of a bitch of all time.
Let me take you back to yesterday. Somewhere between two and three in the afternoon — peak evacuation time — I ventured down the hall to take a grown man two. Nothing weird about it. I walk in, notice I have the floor two gentleman’s room to myself, and naturally pump my fist in excitement. No odor? Even better. Perfect setup. Almost.
Now, when it comes to a men’s room stall, there are different levels of bad. There’s “That’s a damn shame” bad, “Who the hell does this?” bad, and “I’d literally crap my pants before hopping on that” bad. Remarkably, I encountered two of the three. There are two stalls in the floor two men’s room, and both were comically revolting. I won’t get into specifics, but the previous tenant of stall one forgot about that whole flushing thing, an offense that I classify as “Who the hell does this?” bad. That’s the kind of bad that doesn’t completely rule out you using that stall, but it’s definitely less than ideal.
Then there was stall two. Honestly, when I walked into stall two, my first thought was that I was on a hidden camera show. I know how unlikely that is given that having a camera in there would violate numerous privacy laws, but wow — this was truly remarkable. With no viable options, I decided to exercise my right as an employee of a commercial tenant and walked down to floor one to see if the barbarians had pillaged their restroom yet. Just my luck, they had not.
Fast-forward fifteen, maybe sixteen minutes. I’m at the sink washing my hands like a civilized human, and up walks the guy who’d been hosing down the urinal. Per usual, I don’t acknowledge this guy because I practice the “limited interaction” method while in a men’s room. It’s just not my style. But something was off. I could tell this guy was eyeing me, but before I could glance over to see why I was being mean-mugged in an office building men’s room, this went down:
Guy: “You work upstairs?”
Me: “I work one floor up.”
Guy: “I see you guys down here a lot.”
Me: “………” *nods head with no clue where this is going*
Guy: “Don’t y’all have a bathroom up there?”
Holy shit. This is happening. Some dude who looks like an older version of Bull from Night Court is defending the honor of the floor one men’s room. And what exactly does he mean by “you guys”? Fuck no.
Me: “We do.”
Guy: “I don’t understand why there’s a need to come down here.”
Guy: “You have one for a reason.”
Nah. Shit nah, man. This dude is stepping to me in a men’s room. I’m above the age of twenty-two, so going full-blown South Padre Island #SB2015 meathead is way out of the question.
Me: “Well, thanks for the update.”
And that’s how it ended. I gave him a somewhat respectable smart aleck response and walked the fuck out of there. I haven’t seen the guy since, but it’s not a giant building. There’s a great chance we’ll have another men’s room run-in, as I’m now going out of my way to desecrate his beloved restroom. That’s right, old man. I’m gonna be on your turf at least three times a day, and there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s not a game, unnamed old man. THUG LIFE..
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