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The time is 2:12 p.m.
You’re on day 278 of your new job at a company that’s sinking faster than an Irish immigrant stuck in third class onboard the Titanic. You told yourself all weekend that this was the week you’d start applying for other jobs, but you’re finding that task to be difficult because of how much you can’t stand people on LinkedIn.
The burrito you had for lunch snaked it’s way through your body faster than initially anticipated. Your Hindenburg of a company could no longer afford the lease on the 27th floor of the building they’ve occupied for ten years so they’ve shoved everyone together on the 26th. This means that finding an open men’s bathroom stall after lunchtime on a floor occupied primarily by engineers is a feat akin to finding the lost city of Atlantis or a woman’s G-spot, both places of mythical legend.
However, today you find yourself in unbelievable luck. Maybe there was a Fortnight tournament going on in the break room or somebody had the sense to smash open a window and have a face to face meeting with the Embarcadero sidewalk below. Either way, it doesn’t matter because on this glorious Tuesday you didn’t kill yourself, the handicapped stall (of all the stalls) is wide open! You fight back tears, in both joy at your luck and to relieve the stinging in your eyeballs from the smells emanating from a room where grown men who subside on cans of Red Bull and personal pizzas all day long relieve themselves.
You comfortably take your seat and pull out your phone for some NSFW subreddit browsing. You figure you have at least until 2:30 p.m. until your legs start to go numb and you slowly return to your desk, grab your bottle of water, take the long way to the kitchen to refill it, return to your desk with the filled water bottle and then take the long way back to the kitchen again for a midday snack.
Until your happy place is punctured by the sound of two older, more analytical members of your company entering the men’s room together. Loudly they talk over each other about some data issue only their tiny little slice of the business has been having. Your whole body tenses up and the process you had started a few minutes earlier comes to a screeching halt as you listen to the two different voices echoing off the porcelain. Back and forth, they go on about algorithms and reporting and getting the CTO involved and their thoughts on this and that. In horror, you hear the sound of both of their flies unzipping as they merrily continue their two-way conversation from adjoining urinals. The sounds of sizzling piss hitting urinal cakes combined with their inane chatter about rev share and data management has made the whole stall you’re sitting in begin to spin.
The decision has been made for you. You need to get out of the bathroom as fast as you can. You spring to your feet but your legs are like jelly. An attempt to buckle your belt is made but you remember that you gave up wearing jeans years ago and your Lulu pants fit perfectly. As you emerge from the stall with a forlorn, lost look on your face, you see that both gentlemen are now standing at adjoining sinks washing their hands. And they haven’t stopped talking about work. You slowly slink your way up to the open sink next to them and try to think about anything else but the prison you’re currently trapped in: sports, comedy, why Skittles got rid of the Lime flavor, television. You give both men half-hearted nods, as is customary in men’s rooms encounters. The nod communicates distinctly to the both of them that this afternoon they’ve won and you’ve once again lost. You hang your head as you push open the bathroom door with your elbow and exit.
The time is now 2:21 p.m. .
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It’s my 2nd week at a new job and some mousy older fella introduced himself to me at the urinal (already a nono) and then REACHED OVER THE DIVIDER TO SHAKE MY HAND. I just stared at him and said “sorry, my hands are full.” But I am shook.
You gotta quit if that’s the Office atmosphere.
I hate when short dudes feel the need to perk up to try and look over the divider to see who is pissing next to them.
I’m walking into that bathroom to do business, and not the kind I prefer to discuss.
While we’re on the subject, how does everyone here feel about the bathroom attendant that can be found at some nicer establishments? I’m personally anti bathroom guy. I don’t need to feel obligated to tip because some guy put soap on my hands and then gives me one thin paper towel (everyone knows three is the magic number for dry hands).
Nah, make eye contact as you walk out without washing your hands. It’s a power move.
If he gives me three paper towels (agreed on the magic number), then I still won’t tip him because it’s the GD bathroom and I’d like to wash and dry my own hands because I don’t trust any attendant handing out paper towels when the next thing I’m doing is touching food/grabbing drinks. You just never know.
I only tip if they wipe
You should listen to the Ross Bolen Podcast, where Ross and Micah have discussed this in hilarious detail.
20+ minutes was way to long for that segment. I needed an anxiety reliever after that one.
They’ve monetized everything in this god forsaken society. Pretty soon they’re gonna make us pay septic rent for our shits and those bathroom attendees will become debt collectors
Even worse in my opinion are people who talk on the cell phone while they’re in the bathroom. There’s one woman at my work who always walks into the restroom talking into her headphones and talks the entire time she’s on the toilet. It’s both disgusting and obnoxious.
“Huh? No I’m just pooping, I can talk.”
I’ve heard the sound of a flush on conference calls more than I’d care to admit
Lol I’ve seen way too many guys on their headsets in the bathroom so I know where you’re coming from. It always perplexes me
No worse feeling than making eye contact with a coworker leaving a urinal while you’re in the stall through the small space between the door and stall wall
There’s been someone on my office’s floor that eats their lunch on the toilet like a goddamn junior high social outcast. I can’t think of a less appetizing place. Plus, he’s usually chewing and smacking his lips loudly enough for me to hear several stalls over.
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why New York is not the best (let’s keep the fight going y’all)
I mean, this guy eating lunch on the toilet is the embodiment of people eating lunch in New York City. Even the hipsters in their artisanal mayonnaise shops that serve water and repurposed wine bottles in Williamsburg can’t fool me lol
Calm down whitesplaining. Clearly New York is a diverse and beautiful place.
Meant to Meh this. How was he whitesplaining? Can we stop using those out of the specific context to which they may apply?
If you want to say hello, that’s fine. But that’s all you’re getting out of me in the restroom. If you keep talking I’m just going ignore you and not make eye contact. Send me an email, you animal.
Had a guy talk about his vacation while he was sitting in the stall next to me talking to the guy who was washing his hands at the sink… savages I tell ya
Just leave the stall door open next time. Sure to end any conversation.
Perk of being one of the only women in the office; normal bathrooms become your own private bathroom.
Skittles got rid of the lime flavor? I can’t even deal with this.
So a quick Google search made all of this worse when the top question under the people also ask section was “Are Skittles made out of bugs?”
For those of you wondering. Technically, yes. Prior to 2009 Skittles were, in fact, comprised of a little bit of bug.
All chocolate has up to 6 fragments of bug in it. Ground oregano allows up to 2,500 bug particles. I could go on, enviro engineering ruined it for me.