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ninanevermore.
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Even on a day when everyone who works at my office is there, including the part time clerk and the head honcho who has no office exactly but who uses the big conference room with the marble table top as his private domain, there are only 10 people here. On a day when a few people are out, the place seems conspicuously empty. It was on one of those days when I notice the door to the women’s restroom wide opened, so I walked down the hall to close it.
That’s when I noticed a pair of feet under the first stall. They were facing the wall. Someone was standing up to urinate.
I should mention that the men’s restroom is right next door to the women’s restroom. The doors aren’t but a few inches apart. It’s not like someone had an urgent emergency and couldn’t make it to the room designated for their sex. I walked down to the break room and stood at the door so I could see who exited the lady’s room. I was just curious.
J., the property management guy, the entrepreneur’s son-in-law and (curiously) the only person to actually have a private privy adjacent to his office, walked out. He didn’t say a word to me as he walked back to his office, acting every bit as nonchalant as if he had just walked out of the correct door. I walked down to the accountant’s office, because Cheri as been The Entrepreneur’s accountant for many years and knows all the goings on, ins and outs, and characters associated with The Entrepreneur’s life.
“What was J. just now taking a whiz in the ladies’ room?” I asked her, “Any idea?”
“He was? Hmm. That explains a lot. You didn’t strike me as a nasty person, and since you and I were the only ones supposedly using that restroom on most days I was kind of wondering. J. is ‘special,’ let’s just put it like that.” She said the word special in such a way that I knew it wasn’t a compliment.
I scowled. “He better not have gotten the seat wet. I’m gonna go check.” He didn’t. He may not be a gentleman, but at least he’s a good aim.
“He’s special, huh?” I asked Cheri.
“Ooooooh, yeah. He drives me nuts sometime. He’ll unzip his pants so he can tuck in and straiten his shirt right in front of me ,and I’m like, ‘Dude, I am not your mother. Go somewhere private to do that.’ He’s special. We love him, anyway.”
If special is Cheri’s word for uncouth, I suppose J. is that in spade. All I know is that he better not start peeing on the seat if he knows what’s good for him.
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.
.
Even on a day when everyone who works at my office is there, including the part time clerk and the head honcho who has no office exactly but who uses the big conference room with the marble table top as his private domain, there are only 10 people here. On a day when a few people are out, the place seems conspicuously empty. It was on one of those days when I notice the door to the women’s restroom wide opened, so I walked down the hall to close it.
That’s when I noticed a pair of feet under the first stall. They were facing the wall. Someone was standing up to urinate.
I should mention that the men’s restroom is right next door to the women’s restroom. The doors aren’t but a few inches apart. It’s not like someone had an urgent emergency and couldn’t make it to the room designated for their sex. I walked down to the break room and stood at the door so I could see who exited the lady’s room. I was just curious.
J., the property management guy, the entrepreneur’s son-in-law and (curiously) the only person to actually have a private privy adjacent to his office, walked out. He didn’t say a word to me as he walked back to his office, acting every bit as nonchalant as if he had just walked out of the correct door. I walked down to the accountant’s office, because Cheri as been The Entrepreneur’s accountant for many years and knows all the goings on, ins and outs, and characters associated with The Entrepreneur’s life.
“What was J. just now taking a whiz in the ladies’ room?” I asked her, “Any idea?”
“He was? Hmm. That explains a lot. You didn’t strike me as a nasty person, and since you and I were the only ones supposedly using that restroom on most days I was kind of wondering. J. is ‘special,’ let’s just put it like that.” She said the word special in such a way that I knew it wasn’t a compliment.
I scowled. “He better not have gotten the seat wet. I’m gonna go check.” He didn’t. He may not be a gentleman, but at least he’s a good aim.
“He’s special, huh?” I asked Cheri.
“Ooooooh, yeah. He drives me nuts sometime. He’ll unzip his pants so he can tuck in and straiten his shirt right in front of me ,and I’m like, ‘Dude, I am not your mother. Go somewhere private to do that.’ He’s special. We love him, anyway.”
If special is Cheri’s word for uncouth, I suppose J. is that in spade. All I know is that he better not start peeing on the seat if he knows what’s good for him.
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Date: 2010-04-16 04:34 pm (UTC)no subject
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