Waxing Seinfeldian

Every now and then I experience something incredibly profound that takes my breath away and I am compelled to share it with others. A moment when the universal consciousness reaches out and touches me and I feel I must broaden the minds around me by committing it to the written page. When I become a conduit to the indescribable beauty and awe of the universe. This is not one of those times. This is an amusing anecdote involving a peculiar bathroom encounter.

I was at work, wrapping up my reports, when I felt a gurgling in my stomach that signaled a need for a bathroom break. Normally I have the choice of two bathrooms within steps of my office, but on this day one of them was flooded. This left my favorite of the two, a spacious private bathroom in a rarely-used hallway. A third bathroom was located across the building which I ruled out immediately, but this facility will come into play later in my story.

I rounded the corner to the water closet and saw that the little sign on the lock was marked "occupied". Normally I would have just gone to the now-flooded room, but that was not an option for obvious reasons. I briefly considered the trek across the building to the larger restroom, but ruled it out. I decided to set up base camp outside this bathroom and wait out the storm.

After a couple of minutes I hear the toilet flush. Alright, time to get my game face on. I waited for the sound of shuffling feet or a sink faucet ... and nothing. Hmm. A courtesy flush maybe? As I puzzled over this, I heard another flush. Now I'm starting to get concerned. This fellow obviously doesn't know I'm out here. Now, I could be a dick and knock on the door or yell, but that's far too confrontational for me. So I decide to do some passive aggressive techniques, like loudly pacing outside the door and clearing my throat. No response. Who does this guy think he is?

Agonizing minutes pass. I merely had to go before; now it's turning into a suicide mission. I wrestle mightily with abandoning my post and going to the men's room across the building, but at this point I've committed. I'm certain if I walk away now, he'll be out right as I turn the corner. Besides, this is really the better bathroom, and my curiosity over this gentlemen is reaching the point of obsession. I'm having a silent psychic duel with him, mustering whatever latent psychic energies I possess to make this brother's bowels close. I succeed in making my head hurt. He counters by flushing a third time.

Now he's exercised the nuclear option. I start mentally rehearsing what I'm going to say to this guy: "How dare you sir? Why, the unmitigated gall! I am an important man with important reports awaiting my attention at my 5x5 cubicle!"

Finally I hear the zipping of zippers and the trickling of the sink. Guess the third time's a charm. I'm even starting to feel myself emotionally easing up on this guy. He must have had some bad shellfish or something for lunch. At the thought of this I suddenly recall that he flushed three damn times, and gird myself for the stench to hit me any second.

Still girding...

Still girding...

Girding yet some more...

Oh boy, now he's just taunting me. I've met some OCD sufferers before, but I've never seen anyone do a marathon scrub like this. That son of a bitch knows I'm here (what with my stamping and coughing) and has nothing but cruelty in his black black heart for my pain! I check my cell phone clock. Ten minutes have passed since I started waiting. I hear the turn of the lock in the door and steel myself to unleash a stream of colorful epithets, when a deaf guy from another department walks out.

So I let him walk past me. What am I supposed to do, mime angrily at him?

Two facts immediately come to my attention as I walk in, the first being that the horrible smell I expected after his marathon session isn't so much farty as it is minty fresh. This dude was brushing his teeth in here! The second fact was that apparently he'd also given himself a sponge bath or something, because he'd gotten water all over the toilet seat and the floor in front of the toilet and not bothered to towel it off. Deaf Guy seemed to have crammed several days worth of bathroom trips into one convenient excursion. So I had to take another minute or two to carefully dry the whole area before planting myself upon the throne.

Everything worked out just fine in the end. Total trip: 18 minutes, at least 12 of which were spent waiting outside. It's billable hours so it's mostly all good.

But I will take silent revenge on that deaf bastard someday.