The office where I work, is currently having a refurbishment.
This has caused quite an upheaval, as whole departments have had to up-sticks and relocate in other parts of the building, whilst their section is being overhauled. It’s like we are playing musical offices, or something.
But, everyone is mucking in and sitting on each others’ laps and getting on with it.
However, one of the major sufferances that we have had to put up with whilst the work is going on, is a reduction in the number of toilets that are available to us. The men’s toilets, for instance, have reduced from six to two.
That means, for the first time ever, we are having to put up with something that women have to put up with all the time: queueing for a wee.
It’s ridiculous! There have been several times when I have been so desperate to go, that I have considered nipping round the back of the building and peeing in the bushes.
But the smokers might complain.
Last week, I desperately needed a poo. I don’t normally do that when I’m at work, but a large meal at the Toby Carvery the night before, meant my morning routine just wasn’t enough.
With both of the men’s toilets having a red indicator on the door showing that they were engaged, I decided to risk the downstairs uni-sex toilet.
I say “risk” because it has a dodgy lock, so only the most desperate tended to use it, but I was touching cloth at this point, so in I went.
I did my best to make sure it was locked, pulling on the handle to see if it opened… which it didn’t.
Quickly, I plonked myself down on the crapper and started to go through the motions.
I’d only been in there twenty seconds when I heard the outside door open. Immediately, I tried to put my foot in front of the door, but I couldn’t reach, and it suddenly burst open as the busted lock gave way to the heavy shove it had received.
“Oh, I am sorry”, said Linda, looking slightly embarrassed as she turned and fled.
I sat there with my trousers around my ankles and the unreachable door slightly ajar, as I finished my business.
Out in the lobby, Linda was seated at the reception desk. I smiled and she gave a knowing nod as I walked past, but we’ve not spoken since.
I’m sure we’ll be fine… once she gets out of therapy.