There was much excitement at my work a few months ago. I was relocated to a larger, brighter office with more things for me to play with, including a new computer and a real desk with a hutch and a memo board into which I can stick over-priced Pottery Barn pewter push pins to hold up scraps of paper with scribblings and a picture of my daughter. I have much more privacy than I once did and the status that comes along with the make over of my hole has become more than a suspicion on my part since the head of nursing walked in and said "Oh, so this is your new office I've heard about, I haven't been able to see it yet!".
Fame is a double-edged sword though, you lose anonymity and gain visibility; autonomy can fall by the wayside. So far so good though. The only gripe I have at this point is that my office is across the hall from the back office bathroom. Initially, I took this to be another boon; who can complain about only having to walk 4 feet to the potty? It's like staying at a hostel without paying extra to be at the end of the hall near the toilet. I walk farther to get to the bathroom in my own house AND I don't have to clean or stock it. Ever. Juana, our housekeeping angel, does that.
So, what is the problem, you ask. So glad you did. The problem is this: I have recently discovered that it's the "number two" toilet. Since it's tucked away in the back hall and the employees can slip away and return 10 minutes later with no one the wiser, they come back here to take covert dumps. The "number two" toilet receives much less foot traffic so you can take the biggest, stinkiest, meanest dump humanly possible and sneak away undetected. The only other option is the "number one" toilet, which is located much closer to the front and, lately, wiping pee off of the seat is starting to look like a good deal.
I had a birthday last week, the big 3-0, which I must say was slightly disappointing. I was hoping for an epiphany about life, love and the universe or instantaneous clarity or perhaps the heavens parting while I transmogrified into pure particles of light and became one with the godhead, but alas, I hadnít so much as even a clear thought, much less a revelation about the very nature of the cosmos. I did get drunk two nights in a row, though. Woo-hoo. They say a sand cloud as large as the continental US and born from the womb of the Sahara is slowly moseying over the Atlantic with the intention of dropping by for a few days this week. The effects will be sandy cars and spectacular sunsets; obviously God is saying a belated happy birthday to me, but I'm planning on letting the big guy know that late is NOT always better than never.
P.S. I don't feel good. Ugh.