Due to the way some meetings were scheduled at work, I was able to take a longer lunch than usual on Wednesday. A friend and I scooted off to Panera Bread (That's Saint Louis Bread Company for you Missouri dwellers) for a light repast and girly gab session. Because of our superfluity of work materials (laptops, etc.), we couldn’t do the usual ladies partner lavatory dance; one of us had to stay and guard our stuff. Nicole, who was born with an abnormally tiny bladder but was compensated with insanely high cheekbones as the universe’s form of apology, went first.
Nicole returned from the bathroom looking a little uncomfortable.
Me: What’s the matter?
Nicole: Well, I…nothing.
M: Don’t “nothing.” Tell me. Was it something in the bathroom?
N: Um…yeah.
M: Damn it! I knew I shouldn’t have let you go alone. You’re just a kid. A bathroom visit like this takes at least two: one to do the job and the other to do recon work. I blame myself!
N: Ha ha. Very funny.
M: I can’t help it. The chocolate croissants here make me giddy. Seriously, what happened? I drank a lot of ice tea, and I’m going to have to go any minute now. I need to know what I’m facing when I go in there.
N: (sigh) Okay. So, I’m in the stall—
M: Whoa! You aren’t going to give me all of the details, are you? I mean, you know how I have that phobia about bodily fluids, right? Does this involve bodily fluids??
N: (pause) Can I finish?
M: Sorry. Go on.
N: So, I’m in the stall, and this woman takes the stall next to me. We’re the only two in there. I’m just minding my own business…when she starts... talking.
M: Talking? What? Like in tongues or something? What’s wrong with talking?
N: She starts talking in Spanish. She says, “Hola!”
M: Do you speak Spanish?
N: No, I took high school French. You?
M: German. So what did you do?
N: I say, “Hola!” I mean, I didn’t want to be rude…even though it does seem kind of weird for her to suddenly start talking to me through the stall wall. Then, she starts rattling off all these other things in Spanish.
M: But you can’t understand her, right?
N: Right. To me it sounds like, “Nacho bell grande, burrito burrito, jalapeño chorizo, fish taco, fish taco, fish taco—“
M: That? Right there? Is one thing I’ve never understood! Who would eat a fish taco?? I mean, just the thought of the fishy texture in a tortilla makes the little fleshy thing at the back of my throat clench in disgust!
N: They’re actually pretty good. The fish is fried.
M: I don’t care if the fish is smoked and covered in melted cheese and pico. It still doesn’t belong in my taco! Chicken, sure. Steak, yes. I’ll even pop for the veggie, but fish? That's a deal breaker.
N: (sigh.) Whatever. Anyway, she’s speaking in Spanish, and I can’t understand a word. So, I say, “Um, excuse me, but I don’t speak Spanish.”
M: And?
N: She just keeps going on and on: “Queso, chili con carne, chimichanga, enchilada!” So, I finally get the idea that she’s trying to tell me that she needs some toilet paper, and I start wadding up toilet paper and throwing it over the top of the stall. I mean, I, too, have found myself in the toilet paperless stall after the countdown has begun, and there’s a desperation in that predicament. Know what I mean?
M: Mmm-hmmm. Been there. So, you performed a random act of kindness. That was nice. Why are you flustered?
N: Well, I throw all this paper over the top of the stall--and then I go to leave. That's when the stall door next to me flies open, and this woman covered in toilet paper sticks her head out, holds up her cell phone, and shouts, "Que?!" Then, she slams the door…and goes back to talking on her cell phone.
M: Her cell phone?? Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! She was talking on her cell phone that whole time??
N: Yes.
M: That’s awesome!
N: Yeah, well, she looked kind of pissed. She slammed the door of the stall and said something into her cell that I am sure means “crazy lady” in Spanish.
M: Oh. My. God! You may have just caused an international incident! --Wait. We may be able to fix this. I’ll go in there right now and start throwing toilet paper over the top of the stall, too! Maybe she’ll think it’s an American custom!! Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! (snort. choke. gasp.)
N: (sigh) Tell me again why I am friends with you?
M: Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! I have NO IDEA! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! --Ooh, I better go to the bathroom before I wet myself. Gee, I better take my cell with me. That way, if I run out of toilet paper, I can call you. Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!
N: You aren’t going to put this in your blog, are you?
M: Oh no. No, no, no. Your secret is safe with me. Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!!
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5 comments:
I used to talk on my hands-free headset to my boyfriend (now husband) and my roommates wouldn't realize that I wasn't talking to them so they'd be carrying on some conversation with me that I was completely unaware of.
Still laughing. I am assuming I know which Nicole (there are only four I can think of who work there), which, if I am right, makes it even more hilarious. Almost worth a trip back there before the end of the year to TP her desk!
Thanks for the laugh.
Only thing funnier would have been if the bathroom had motion lights!
ha ha Sue, motion lights.
This happened to me in the grocery store with someone speaking Spanish on her cell phone a few stalls down. Come on, people, in the TOILET?!
What's that important?
(Unless, like you had said, she was calling in for reinforcements because she was out of TP. But I doubt it.)
S.K.
My phone philosphy: The ringing phone is a request, not a demand. I HATE when I'm with someone and mid-conversation their phone rings and without even a "I'm sorry, I have to take this" they answer the phone. It's so completely rude!! I judge dates by it. If they have bad-phone-etiquette I put a little mark on the CON side of my list. And I wonder why I have so few dates! HA! Thanks for sharing!
My husband is editing a video he needs for work tomorrow. I am on deck for baby duty. Will write more later....
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