I am glad the bathroom partitions at my work don’t continue to the floor. Largely because the lower open space provides valuable information as to the identity of your neighbor. I don’t look to see who it is to start a conversation. I don’t look because I have a shoe fetish. I look because this inconspicuous deed sometimes saves my life.
Sometimes I have mere moments to finalize the paper work and flee ground zero. Some go about their business quietly. Some mask their business with a flushing of the toilet. Some believe the stalls to be concert venues/stages and proceed to unleash anal symphonies played by a musically disinclined brass section.
Whatever their preference is, I prefer they do their business elsewhere or at another time when I’m occupying a stall. I used to work at a building that had two urinals and two stalls on each level. Working on the first floor and knowing it was heavily trafficked forced me to venture to other floors to attend to business matters. Surreptitiously folded over in my hand was a freshly printed sheet of paper with a strip of tape and three magical words emblazoned on the front.
I don’t like to be neighbored up. This magical, posted declaration prevented such occurrences…most of the time. Unfortunately it wasn’t foolproof. Many times however, I would hear hurried footsteps loudly crash to the stall, pause to allow the potential intruder time to read the sign falsely advertising faulty facilities then I’d hear an audible sigh of disgust. Success!! It took all I had to conceal my laughter sometimes. Good thing I was on the toilet and could allow little amounts of pee to escape safely.
I have come to learn so much more about the shoes of the people I work with. More than I ever wanted. Shoes tell a lot about a person. They tell if a person is neat, orderly, filthy, etc. Most importantly they can incite the aforementioned Pavlonian response. For example, I hear keys jingling in the bathroom I know our heavy set (don’t know what his title is) is coming to defile some porcelain. Each time I wonder anew if he has never excreted the contents of his colon before. It is as though he has held onto them his whole life and has chosen the precise, damnable moment I’m there to release the contents in the most audibly disturbing manner. Babies crying are a more pleasing sound than the ear drum rape he shares.
I don’t know how I can be so revolted by this entirely natural phenomenon. Especially considering that I will be working on the other end of the tube in a few years. Sounds a mouth makes are nowhere as troubling as the exit side of the tube. Anywho think about this the next time you’re on the job. Study the footwear of your neighbors. Associate the accompanying activity of the wearer. It will aid you in your future neighboring endeavors.