This has happened to me a couple of times in the past month. In our office building, women's restrooms are found on odd floors and men's restrooms are on the even floors. I work on the ninth floor, meaning I have to walk upstairs or downstairs whenever I need to answer a bodily request. Not a hard concept.
Ten has always been my floor of choice, but I've been trying out eight as of late - and eight is where all of this happened.
I was in a stall going about my normal business when I heard the door open very slowly.
"Hello?" The voice was high pitched, shrill and effeminate. "Is anybody in here?"
I froze. Was I in the wrong restroom? Had I walked down one too many flights of stairs in an early morning stuper? I peeked through the crack in the stall door and saw the men's urinal. I was momentarily relieved. What the hell was happening?
My first reaction should have been to shout "YEAH!", but I was busy checking if I was mistakenly using the women's restroom.
Then it happened.
Click... Clack... Click... Clack...
Pink toenails in pink heels. Right there. Walking across the tile with all the stealth, caution and calculated risk a soldier takes when crossing a field of land mines... and into the stall next to me.
Could she not walk up or down one measly flight of stairs? Yeah, someone is in here, honey. You'll find out soon when I flush this damn thing. Was she nursing? Was she newly transgendered? Still using the men's room, huh?
So I flushed much to her surprise. The timid little gasp on the other side of the stall wall led me to believe she was embarrassed. But the next week it almost happened again. Almost.
"Hello? Is anybody in here?"
"YES! ME! I AM IN HERE!"
No click clacking. She patiently waited outside for her turn to use the men's restroom while I deliberately stalled. I exited and saw here standing there. Waiting, moving past me when I headed for the stairs. I stopped in the lobby and could hear her put down the toilet seat.
But she didn't ask if anyone else was in the restroom.
© mundane affair
- mundane affair
- Chicago, IL, United States
- Hark, ye children. An ex-kid or former infant – a fully grown seed. White as milk and 2 percent overrated. Loves writing, loathes reading (only kidding) and doesn’t mind learning a thing or two. Prone to self-contradiction, self-defamation and self-mutilation, but not self-strangulation. Thinks a lot, or a little, depending on subject matter, and wishes he was a mixture of Lester Bangs, whoever played Amélie in "Amélie," Iceland and a werewolf. Did not know the 12 months or their order until grade 10, and still has no idea how many days are in each. Forgets names, birthdays, relatives and holidays, and was once a “C” geography student. Tired, in general, finding little or no motivation to wake up each day. Ate ice cream from cartons on a daily basis for three months straight (mostly in the evenings), and gained weight after it was all over. Is no longer fond of ice cream.
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