Hazardous Work

I have issues with public bathrooms. Actually, I have issues with most bathrooms that are not my own. .... Unless there is an urgent bowel need, I will avoid dropping the kids off out in public at all costs. Not the ballpark bathroom, not the airport bathroom, not the restaurant bathroom, not the shopping mall bathroom, not even the office bathroom. When travelling, it even takes me a day or two to warm up to the hotel bathroom. Once, I missed a whole college lecture because I had to go 10 minutes into the lecture; but once in the bathroom, got stage fright and was stuck there for a good 40 minutes. Good times....

Well, now I have another anecdote to add to my already gem-filled vault.
Nature called last week near the end of the work day, and I decided to throw caution to the wind and do the deuce on company time. ... Slowgoing as there was a fair bit of traffic coming in and out of the ladies room (that gives me stage fright too). But just as I was being to relax, a nightmare came to life. The FREAKING FIRE ALARM goes off! And its not a drill. In fact, the incident was reported from the floor below mine. So, ok, all I need is a fireman to come rushing into the bathroom demanding my exit. All I could do was finish my business the best I could and go back to my desk and collect my things.

Unfortunately, by the time I emerged from the bathroom, just about everyone was gone. I walked down alone the 4 flights of stairs only to find a building engineer telling me I had to walk down.

"Walk down another 4 floors?"
"No! Walk DOWN."

OMGWTFBBQ!! I had to walk down 31 flights of stairs! And yes, although it is better than walking UP 31 flights of stairs, have you any idea how your legs would feel by floor 22? In 3 inch heels? No. I did not take off my shoes (they were Aerosoles.. ); at this point, I didn't even want to stop to readjust anything I was wearing or carrying. I just needed OUT. So with my handbag and gymbag in tow, I trudged on. 19.... 18...... 17....... By floor 12 I was feeling my quads shaking. With each step down, my legs felt like jello. Highly unpleasant.
Once I reached the ground floor, the doors were locked and signs instructed me down to the next floor. After a series of doors and drafty corridors I ventured out one last heavy door , wondering somehow if I had ended up in Oakland. But nope, just the receiving dock. I made it out alive, although in tears, still alive. And I didn't even have to use chewing gum and a bobby pin to blow myself out...

The moral of the story kids? A crapper at the office can be hazardous work!

Dress Code

I never seem to be wearing the right thing.
Beginning in High School, I always seemed to be getting in trouble for wearing the wrong thing.
You see, I spent 21/2 years in private Catholic School. And yes, this involved white button up shirts, standard regulation navy skirts, standard regulation navy cardigans, and even standard regulation sweater vests.

But the cardigans were of some bulky acrylic blend (it was the 80's, synthetic fibers were not what they are today.) that had no shape and fitted poorly. Actually, I'm wrong. They actually were of some weird square shape; but they still fitted poorly. I much preferred my vintage navy blue argyle sweater. It was warmer and it gave me just the right oldey timey studious look. But Sister Mary Annetta begged to differ. So did Dean Whats-Her-Face. I always did an about face in the halls once I saw Dean WHF. On some days it was like the gunfight at the OK Corral, a showdown between Good and Evil. Sometimes Evil prevailed and I got my share of demerits.

One Christmas in the early 90's I earned some extra Christmas money working at JcPenney's for the Holidays. If there were ever a 9th Circle of Hell, well, I would rank this the 8th. JcP, and my Manager Mary Falwell, in particular, was a stickler for dress code. She had a real problem when I wore pants that were not part of a 2pc suit. I'm sure she was also pretty peeved that my pants weren't polyester but I don't believe that was actually stated in the employee handbook. So for two months I spent a lot of time avoiding Mgr Falwell each time I saw her in the employee lunchroom. Lucky for me, no demerits.

My place of work decided to reinforce a "luxury" look last year. Basically insinuating that we all dress like shmoes. I know I'm usually pretty fabulous so it wasn't an issue. But today I wore my lavender corduroys to work. They're soft, with sandblasted whiskers, and boot cut. Not wool slacks, but they're fashionable and as long as they're not denim, I'm in the clear. It was cold. I knew it would be a long 10 hour day and I needed my comfy pants. Unfortunately I bumped into the Executvive Assistant that I like to call Sargeant Fox. You know the type, drunk with power. Well she likes to take issue with these pants everytime I wear them.
"Deezy, are those jeans??"
"No Sargeant. They're corduroys. We go through this everytime I wear these!"
"MMm.... girl! You are really pushin' it."
This said the woman who was one step away from wearing sweats today..........