There comes a time in every man’s life where he loses a good friend. His heart sinks when it happens, and he can’t help but think of the good times they shared together. For me, I lost a good one last week. We shared a special bond ever since we met on that fateful summer morning. We were two peas in a pod. Just best friends hanging out every day learning more and more about each other with every passing meet up. Of course, I am talking about my bathroom stall at work. See, last week I discovered that it was broken, and now I’m on the verge of a breakdown.
I had a hot start to my day last Friday. Things were flowing, content was moving, and the vibe in the office was pretty chill. Needless to say, everything was coming up Montgomery that day. That was until about 11:15 in the morning — the usual time I take my morning dump in our bathroom. As I made my way to the bathroom, proudly high-fiving the random accountant who works on our floor, I was on top of the world. Until I took a seat in my stall. You see, one of the screws keeping the seat attached had become undone, and I went sliding right off the damn thing. I was a disaster the rest of the day. Just a mess. A coworker found me crying underneath my desk when I was late for our Friday afternoon meeting. Just something I’m not extremely proud of.
I didn’t know what to do. I was in shambles. Do I try and find another toilet? No, I couldn’t start looking for replacements this early in my grieving process. I could only enter the bathroom to use the urinal. These incidents led to many moments of silence with me staring at the stall, sulking at what I had just lost. To put it bluntly, I was in a bad way. We all have our own go-to bathrooms at work, and Carl (that’s what I named him) was mine. I didn’t know what I was going to do without my safe space every day at 11:15, 1:45, and 4:30.
You guys might be thinking “Why don’t you just use the stall next to it or find another handicap stall to use?” right now. A valid point, but to those I say this — How dare you insult the friendship and bond that had been built in the two years. I’m supposed to throw all that away, for what? The first-floor handicap stall where I get ZERO cell reception? Preposterous, taking a 2 without your phone is like getting PowerPointed to death. Just a miserable idea. And no, you can’t just transition to the smaller stalls meant for normal people. Once you’ve upgraded in life, there’s no turning back. The leg room doesn’t seem quite like you remembered when you were just happy to be there. It’s different.
That stall was missed this week as I had to adjust to the nearest Omni Hotel for my daily deuces. I’m not back to normal just yet, but I’m pulling through. It’s what Carl would want. RIP Office 2 Second Floor Handicap Stall. Until next time old pal. You’ve taught me never to take anything for granted. .
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