My Eyes Are Burning

The restroom at work (or any public restroom in general) has always provided some of the most interesting fodder for my writing. Check out this post if you don’t believe me.

It had been a while since I had witnessed any restroom hijinx and then I got slammed with two in a row.

The first occurred as I was sitting in the stall doing minding my own business when suddenly I heard a loud booming voice in the next stall.

Voice: I’m in the bathroom!

Me: (Is she talking to me? I mean, it’s pretty obvious we’re BOTH in the bathroom!)

Voice: No, I just had to go!

Me: (Ah. She’s on a cell phone. Gotta love when people use the bathroom stall as their own personal phone booth. I wonder if they realize the person on the other end can often hear “sounds”?)

Voice: They were good, but they’re not sittin’ too good with me.

Me: (Oh Lordy. Is that why it smells like Chernobyl and a cesspool had a baby in here?)

Voice: The beans! The beans this morning were good but they’re not sittin’ good with me!

Me: (Oh great. Toxic frijoles. Why did she eat beans for breakfast? And why is she repeating herself???)

Voice: THE BEANS TASTED GOOD BUT THEY’RE NOT SITTIN’ GOOD WITH ME!!!

Me: (Oh for crap’s sake. She’s talking to someone who is hard of hearing and now the whole building knows she had tasty bad beans for breakfast.)

We left our stalls at the same time. She did not look the least bit sheepish about the conversation she was still having even as she balanced her phone between her ear and shoulder and washed her hands.

Well, at least she washed.

I was thankful to reach for the door and exit the Bean Recycling Factory when I was accosted by the sight of a dude walking down the hall adjusting his junk.

Funny that this should happen this week.

Just a few days ago on The Midnight Goose Blog, my blogger buddy Allen wrote a post about “manspreading” and other bodily necessities.

This is an example of manspreading:

He went on to explain that sometimes the little soldiers need a little relief from being pinched in clothing that may be too tight or may have shifted in the act of sitting down, thereby causing discomfort in the nether regions.

So I totally get the need to “adjust” in order to prevent pain or even injury. I’m sympathetic.

I even only tee-heed a little when I witnessed a member of upper management pat his junk in the hallway at Satan’s Butthole, because I realized it was probably necessary. Besides, it was just a little slap, kind of like when you’re swatting at a mosquito or trying not to scratch a tattoo when it’s going through the itchy, scabby stage.

But what I witnessed coming out of the Frijole Factory was what some people might consider a downright assault to the senses.

It was not a “oh, gee…my boxers got a little bunched up” kind of adjustment.

It was a full-on “my ass is trying to eat my underwear and is holding my balls hostage please call the SWAT team” kind of adjustment.

The last time I saw a crotch grab like that with a walking leg shake, the dude was wearing a sparkly glove and doing the Moonwalk.

I mean, if your undies are grabbing your jewels that hard, you might want to step into an empty office or conference room rather than risk an H.R. moment.

Shamone. Hee hee.

My eyes are still burning.

I don’t know if it’s from the toxic breakfast beans or from the impromptu hallway nut sack dance.

The Spider Update

In other news, Carmella the spider is still hanging on, though I fear the end may be near. After doing a little more research, I learned that once the female of this species lays her eggs, she usually dies soon after, often by the first frost.

When I told The Husband Dude this, he seemed shocked and a little sad. That’s when I had to explain the plot to “Charlotte’s Web” because he is quite possibly the only human being I know who hasn’t read the book or seen the movie.

I noticed the last few days that she hasn’t moved much. Every morning, she’s in the same exact spot as the day before. I twitched her web a little to see if she was ok and she did move a little, but she seems pretty lethargic.

Unlike Charlotte’s Web, I will not be saving her egg sacs after she is gone.

There will be no Carmella legacy. Sorry. There’s no Circle of Life here. There’s just a straight line that ends with me.

I did manage to catch some fuzzy pictures of Polly the Possum and Randy the Raccoon, though:

Friends on the East Coast, stay safe and take care of yourselves this weekend!

Until next time…

Stay weird, my friends. Normal is boring!