The bathroom in my office has tile on the floors. (Don’t worry, this post will get more interesting.) I imagine that this is some kind of standard in bathroom design, and it’s a good one. I bet that most bathrooms in most offices have tile flooring, which is why I feel comfortable sharing this story.
It’s just that if tile in bathrooms is as common as I think, then there’s no doubt that other people have succumbed to the same kind of mental wildness that I am about to reveal. Or, at the very least, after having read this, it will whiz through your head the next time you’re in a public restroom, and I will have succeeded in sucking you into my delusions, at least for a second. Accept it. Enjoy it. Bwahaha.
Anyway. Besides tile on the floor, another bathroom standard is the idea that it’s pretty rude to try and guess who is in the stall next to you, even in your head. I agree with this. No one should ever do that, and I don’t.
However, since I can’t very well just turn off my imagination all the sudden just because I’m in the bathroom, my mind wanders to interesting places. Not gross places, just…interesting.
It starts out innocently enough. In my head, it goes like this:
— Hey, look, I’m the only one in the bathroom. That’s special.
— Squeaky door. Clunky shoes. Clop, clop, clop, clop. Could be heavy loafers, or it could be a horse that wandered in here. Yeah, it’s probably a horse. How’s it going, horse?
— Whoops, someone else. Getting busy in here. Ah, I can hardly hear this one. Like they’re wearing slippers. Probably ballet shoes, or maybe there’s fur on her feet. Probably a very large bunny rabbit. Pad-pad-pad. Are those floppy ears I see? This is getting a little strange.
— This is nice. Hanging out with the horse and the bunny.
— Wow, that door is squeaky. Here comes another. Flap-flap. Sounds like flip-flops. You’re not supposed to wear those to work. Which is why it’s probably a duck instead. I think webbed feet make that sound. Hey there, duck.
— It’s quite the zoo in here. And I’m the leader! Like Noah and his ark. Oh, no! Don’t go, horse. You were my only tall animal.
— Sigh. Wait. There’s something coming. It’s a clack-clack-clack. It’s coming down the hall.
— It’s a giraffe! Or stilettos. Hooray, the tall animal problem is solved. You can’t have a zoo without a tall animal, and giraffes are the best ones. What luck.
— Now everybody stay put. We’re all full up here on Lisa’s Ark. Don’t be scared. Just stay in your stalls. It is raining pretty hard out in the hall. That’s right, stay calm. Nobody panic. Good job, guys.
— Hey, bunny, where are you going? Come back here! You’ll drown out there! Stay in the ark! STAY IN THE ARK, BUNNY!
— Bunny—no. Please no. Don’t turn on that faucet. Don’t let the water in here! Do you want us all to drown? Everyone—flush! Flush the water out!
— It’s not working. The water’s rising! We’re all going to diiiieee! Oh, bunny, you are a cruel beast. I’m sorry, animals. Save yourselves, if you can.
And they do. One by one, they clack and flap and pad out of the ark, and I’m alone once again, the sole survivor of a massive, office-wide flood, exhausted, but thrilled to be alive.
I step off of the tile and onto dry carpet. People click at their desks unaware.
I should probably get back to work.