For this post, I thought I would show you some pictures of…duh duh duhhhh…our office bathroom!
Okay, it’s not technically in our office, and I didn’t actually take pictures in the bathroom itself…I thought that was just a little too weird, even for me.
This is in the hallway, right before you get to the bathroom. If you take an immediate left, you are in the bathroom. I hate the mirrors…if you are having a fat day, it is not a pleasant walk if you have to pee.
The thing about having the office restroom be in a hotel (oh yeah – this is the Grand Doubletree, by the way), is that a lot of the time, it’s completely empty! ‘Cause everyone has a bathroom in their room. I mean, I’m guessing, anyway. And sometimes you forget you aren’t always alone. Like I did, this afternoon.
(If you look reeeeally closely, you can see the sign pointing to the bathroom at the end of this hall.)
Anyway, today I was listening to music while I was doing some research for a grant. Anyone who knows me knows that I have bizarre taste in music, and one of the things I love is showtunes. Everything from Wicked and Rent and Aida to The Sound of Music and South Pacific and Me and My Girl. But. My favorite. Musical. Of all time. Is. Oklahoma. I love it! I don’t know if its the corny accents, or the vivid imagery (who doesn’t want to sit on the porch with their honey lamb while the wind comes roarin’ down the plain? I mean, come on), but I just can’t get enough. I listen to it on repeat while I’m brainstorming capital campaign strategies, while I’m typing executive summaries, while I’m drafting RFPs, heck, I even have one earbud in while I’m munching on carrot sticks and chatting with my coworkers. I just can’t get enough. I cain’t say no, guys.
I also like to, sometimes, serenade my co-workers. Oh, yeah. I’m sure they love that. Not often, though, just when the music needs to be shared.
So today I was singing “Kansas City.” The reason I was singing this song was because one of the foundations I was looking at as a possible funding source has its headquarters in Kansas City, and of course it got stuck in my head. This was around lunchtime, so I figured, I’ll take a break, have some lunch, go to the bathroom (and perhaps check Perez Hilton). I was just singing along to Kansas City (“I got to Kansas City on a Fri-dee…by Sater-dee I’d larned a thing ar two…up till then I didn’t have an i-dee…just what the modern warld wus comin’ to“) and boogeying with my co-workers when I figured I should probably go to the bathroom. For no particular reason. It just seemed like a good idea. So I sashayed down the hall(s) to the bathroom. Its about three main hallways from our office, and I didn’t see anyone on the way there.
Oh, and also, I was wearing a kind of pouffy skirt. Not like a tutu, or anything, but one that flares out when you spin around. It’s cute, okay. Just take my word for it. It’s gray, and high-waisted, and from H&M…oh, nevermind. Anyway, so I went to the bathroom, and was washing my hands, and humming along to “Kansas City.” If you’ll notice from the pictures, the Grand is a big fan of lots and lots-o mirrors. And in the bathroom too, which really is beautiful – it has black and white photographs of calla lilies and black tile and bamboo benches and mirror frames – has more than its share of mirrors. Like, all around the sink. And just for kicks, I decided to do a couple twirlies, just to see what my skirt would look like in the mirror.
Mind you, I have never seen anyone in this bathroom before. It’s like the bathroom Moaning Myrtle hides in – it’s always deserted. So just as I am really letting loose, and belting, They gotta big thee-ay-ter, they call a burl-ee-cue, and for fifty cents you can see a dandy showww… and twirling around in a circle, this woman walks into the bathroom.
It would have been mortifying if A. I had thought about it enough to get embarrassed, or B. I wasn’t being so ridiculous. (I’m almost twenty-three, so yeah, I probably should have been embarrassed.) The woman looked at me like I was completely insane, and didn’t really say anything, just looked at me and walked really fast down the aisle and closed the door to the stall. Awkward. I pretended like I had just been spinning from the soap to the sink, then I left without drying my hands. Then I pretended like I was C.J. Cregg for the rest of the day. Sometimes when I feel like I should be acting more mature/adult/professional/confident than I really am, I act like C.J. Cregg. You can bet President Bartlett ever caught C.J. Cregg doing twirlies in a West Wing bathroom. Dear God. Why am I so weird?
P.S. Come to think of it, where do presidents go to the bathroom? Do they have their own private bathroom off of the Oval Office? I’m really curious.
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Smooth move, Exlax!