The Siege
September 3, 2006
On very deep level I see my workplace as foreign, hostile place. The ease and openness I exude in my waking life contracts into a furtive ball the moment I swipe past those security doors. For the most part this is useful, and justified, adaptive functioning. I refuse to small talk, attend social ocassions, or address people by their correct names. My bathroom practices follow this need for distance: private handicap accommodations or nothing. It can complicate things, but there certain moments I have no interest in sharing.
My workplace disengagement was undone, at least in part, by the actions of my beloved Esmeralda. The night before the incident she had packed me a nutritious, meat and dairy free, lunch. While the thought was greatly appreciated, the reality is I posses a cattle farmers digestive tract: without meat to serve as intermediary, plants rampage though my system unchecked. I had barely finished my meal when a dire need made its self known. I don’t know what kind of dark chi infused that vegetarian morass but I could feel my essense dimming every second it was contained within me. There was no time to waste.
Charging as fast as I could I manage, with knees touching ,I reached the handicapped bathroom; the clunk of locked handle was like a punch in face. The simpering voice of Carl the marketing directory wheezed out from behind the door “Sorry sport, it’s occupied”. I forced my words through clenched teeth “Carl, you have ten seconds to finish up, and open that door, or we are going to have a serious problem.” I could feel the heat of him savouring his advantage though the wall “Oh I’d like to, but I have a big meeting with the head of sales, Mike Davis, and I want to be all flushed out”. I was seething with rage and vegan cuisine “You toilet hoarding name dropper, I will destroyed you for this”. There was no answer. Had I an ounce of glutial force to spare I would have kicked the door down; necessity pushed past rage and forced me towards the public men’s room.
Intestinal contractions tried to juke and head fake their way past my sphinctorial command; I clenched with the force of a thousand dying stars and launched myself into the nearest stall. The first detonation occurred with such force I feared for my physical well being, the second my spirtual. I was shaken and humbled; never had I encountered a force so much greater than myself. Was it sadness I felt? Perhaps awe? My mentations were interrupted by a jarringly friendly voice from the next stall.
“Hey, is that you AJ? I recognize your shoes. It’s Dave Kurtz; we were in a meeting together last week.”
I can’t imagine what sort of fractured social instinct lead him to believe that now was the appropriate time to deepen our bond.
“Hey, Dave”, I replied out of barest obligation.
“Wow, sounds like you’re really doing some business in there. How have you been?”
“Please stop talking to me” I thought over and over, his attempts at discourse only marginally less creepy than an encouraging back rub.
The chipper bastard continued “If I owned this place I would buy way nicer toilet paper; this stuff is like sandpaper. Am I right?”
I couldn’t take it. “Dave” I said, actually crying a little at this point “I’m going to have to as you to stop talking to me.
“Oh, Ok” he replied, clearly hurt.
Implausibly things became even more awkward. We had both been so thoroughly shamed that it’s was unthinkable we should see each other. Our only option was to wait until the other left,then make our cowardly exit. Since we both intuited this though, we were locked in a horrible stalemate. When one would grow bold enough to take the initiative, the other would inevitable spook him with some random noise, compelling the bold one to abandon their escape plan.
After four hours I finally lost my composure and began wildly kicking our shared wall until he fled; rightfully fearing I had lost my mind. I stayed there another two hours until the building emptied, then made my way home.
Aside from reinforcing my distrust of vegetables, the incident served to highlight the dangers of being out of synch with ones environment. Society works provided you operate within very narrow, ritualized, behavioural patterns. We are only ever a couple missed cues, or thwarted expectations, away from shrieking and hurling feces at one and other. It’s a wonder we ever made it out of the trees in the first place.
September 5, 2006 at 1:56 pm
“You toilet hoarding name dropper, I will destroyed you for this”
This has become a battle cry at my work :)
November 2, 2006 at 2:41 pm
Valliant is indeed a great sage and prophet of the cubicle age. His thoughts and insights cut to the truth the way power point presentations never do.