Fidgety Knitting

Memo to Another Co-Worker

Dear Lady from my Work Floor:

When I am sitting on the toilet having profound thoughts which rival the writings of Plato and Aristotle and completing the necessary bodily functions that even a camel must attend to, I would appreciate it if you would not give me a heart attack, and make me cross my knees and grab my ankles whilst scaring the SHIT out of me by trying to storm my stall (serious no shit left- you scared it all out). The force you exert to attempt to open my door (which I am now ever so paranoid to ensure is LOCKED) is quite compelling. Storm Troopers look like wussies in comparison to you. Both of these facts I find to be utterly astounding. As is the lack of hearing any sentiment expressed such as “Oops” or an ever appreciated “Sorry”. Arguably you could be trying to do me a favor, and I will extend you the benefit of the doubt on that one. But really you needn't.

Me, I would think if the door is closed that well… someone might be occupying the stall. And unless you are one of a select group for the given person- usually anything that happens in a toilet stall is slightly private and I am not quite sure why you would wish to intrude. Acknowledgedly, I have a low privacy threshold, but until we are better acquainted I would prefer to keep a wall between us when my clothes could prove to trip me should I need to move or make a run for it. Nor do I wish to continue this charade at our average 3 times a week rate.

Courtesy in my book would indicate at the least that you might wait to see if the door opens (I really am quite quick about this business, you know) cause… well do you really want to be known as the lady who caused a co-worker to have a coronary whilst sitting on the loo. Really who wants their obituary to say: “she was a lovely person, left behind a lovely shit and died ass planted on a porcelain god”?? Karma will be a bitch and your obituary will be worse- I promise. However if you are one of those people who doesn’t care what is said about you after you die as you won't be here I guess that won't be as persuasive an argument as I had hoped.

And I would like to bring it to your attention that should you be trying to test my modesty rating, I can assure you it is at a base level. I have very few virtues and neither patience nor modesty factor into the equation there. All you have to do is ask, and I’ll show. I have references from my pre-school teacher to verify how well I play at Show-and-Tell. There really is no need to throw terror into the survey format here.

Furthermore, while I do understand that the purpose of a toilet is to get the shit out, I prefer doing this function on my own terms and at my own pace. If this ever changes and I need help, I promise that I will ask you. Should I ever find out who you are. Because I don’t know if it embarrasses you that you are trying to storm the stall or not, but you scurry away as you are never in the restroom when I am done.

So ummm merci bien en avance for well letting me take care of my business all by myself in our very private stalls and know that next time you storm my stall I will not be quiet... I may try to scare the shit out of you (and you will not have the benefit of having your pants down already) by immediately exiting the toilet and talking with you. Please reference the paragraph on my modesty should you doubt my intentions...

Bisous,
Tink

Posted by Stinkerbell at January 26, 2006 07:39 PM | TrackBack