Removing all doubts

Four thirty in the afternoon is my favorite time to use the restroom at work. Yes, I have a favorite time to use the restroom at work. I will postpone bathroom use, crossing my legs and praying, just to wait until 4:30. (uh, exaggerated story) Why, you may be asking yourself, does Paige enjoy the bathroom at 4:30? Well, at approximately 4:15, Marcia, the extremely nice custodian in our building, cleans the ladies room on my floor. Using the bathroom at precisely 4:30 almost always guarantees me the blue bowl. The blue bowl is the sign of the cleanest bathroom possible.

Your bowl is pristine when the water is blue. The toilet seat is still up, and the water glistens aqua blue and germ free. No one has used this bowl, I can tell myself with confidence. Sometimes on my way into the bathroom at 4:30, Marcia tells me to watch my step on the freshly mopped floor. “Watching my step” is another sign of the cleanest bathroom possible. A blue bowl and a watch-your-step warning from Marcia means a good day for me.

Up until now, gentle reader, the blue bowl has been my personal and private joy. I don’t talk about it. I think that the bathroom is a private place, and there is little need to talk about what goes on in there. (Unless you are my brother, who gets his personal and private joy out of discussing his bathroom goings-on with those who show interest. Odd but true, some people show interest…)

On Friday, I slipped into the bathroom at the appointed hour, slid the lock into place on my stall and gazed upon the blue bowl. Behind me, I heard the bathroom door open, and someone come in.

“Oh my goodness,” I heard from the other side of the stall door. “I love a clean bathroom.”

It was the director of our quality assurance department (this is no Vern, mind you). She launched into a dialogue about how she’d love to have a maid just for the joy of always getting to use a fresh bowl. She waxed poetic on the delight she feels when her bathroom sparkles. She talked about the thrill of having a maid who’d clean while she was at work and again while she slept.

Personally, I have no desire to talk while I am in the bathroom. I like to pretend that no one else is in there. We are both partially naked; what makes you think this is a good time to chat? I didn’t respond to the bathroom chit chat, but she kept talking right through the flush and into the hand washing. I think that under-stall chat should be forbidden.

I went into the restroom the other day and saw someone’s mug of coffee sitting on the counter. Is it just me, or is that odd? Do you take beverages into a public restroom? Or even your private bathroom? I don’t see a reason to ever bring refreshments.

My other bathroom pet peeve is people who don’t wash their hands. I can’t imagine even entering the bathroom, especially a public restroom, and leaving without washing my hands. It seems like common sense that you’d want to wash your hands after hanging out in there. I asked Scott is boys wash their hands after peeing.

“Sometimes,” he said walking out of my bathroom.

Immediately my mind starts turning. Did he just wash his hands? Do I need to Lysol my place because boys only wash their hands “sometimes”? He picks up my glasses from the counter and puts them on.

“Don’t touch my glasses!” I yelped. “I put those on my face. I don’t want the last thing you touched to touch my FACE!” Gross. Scott just laughed. Yes, Scott, I did disinfect my glasses after you left. Just in case that was one of those “sometimes.”

I had a roommate once who wasn’t a hand washer. I took to Lysol-ing my apartment regularly after she confessed (a little too proudly) that she didn’t wash. We don’t live together anymore, but she is required to wash upon entering my apartment or touching any food products in my presence. I feel very motherly when I remind her to wash as she is walking out of the bathroom.
Well, if you didn’t think that I was odd and quirky after reading about my bed obsession, I thought I would write about the bathroom and remove all doubts.