Call Me, Beep Me… in the WC…

I have a curious knack for constantly running into exes/past conquests and engaging them in conversation. I take the “let’s be friends” bit very literally—plus it doesn’t help that all the people I’ve dated/conquered  in NYC work roughly in a 2-block radius from my office. We’re bound to run into each other.

Please don’t look at me like I plan this stuff. They all were mysteriously transferred to offices near me after the falling outs. They just can’t quit me!

The other day I happened across one of my more recent acquisitions to the Love Closet: Sexy Beardy Lip Man, or SBLM. Of all the men I’ve ever dabbled with he is by far the sanest. I reflected on that to a friend just last night and he asked “Is that why it failed?”

True, I do like my share of crazy in a man, but the romance fizzled out after he confessed he was (basically) a swinger and I confessed I just wanted him to marry me and make me sandwiches. Obviously it wasn’t going to work out on a fundamental level. Regardless, he’s a sweet guy and great for a 30 minute conversation so naturally I had to see how he was doing.

As per the course that most of my conversations run SBLM at one point said “I’ve never texted you while my pants were down”. Besides being secretly disappointed I had to stop myself from blurting out “Well, I wish I could assure you of the same” before laughing like Julia Roberts and totally ending the conversation with an awkward but assured halt. Also, I’m pretty sure he was lying. That’s OK.

Just now I was in the bathroom at my office—wow—and all I could hear was the clack-clack of people texting while they went about their business. Instantly I had the three thoughts:
1. What are people still doing with a Blackberry? Those keys are noisy!
2. If you’re using an iPhone, trim your nails.
3. I can’t remember the last one suddenly but I’m sure it was immature so we’ll just keep going.

When texting first became a “thing” (and I remember those days because I am ancient) I remember my best friend saying, in the body of a text message, “I’m texting you from the bathroom”. I was totally grossed out—mostly because I thought the germs would be passible through airwaves—but also because I now had to picture my friend using the bathroom. Ugh. Common decency, please. It took me exactly 4 years from that point until I sent my first text from a bathroom stall.

When I first moved to NYC I was lucky enough to assume the managerial position at a well-known coffee chain. Besides from the overwhelming sense of failure the job also gave me respect for a locked bathroom door. It was literally the only place in the entire world I could go and hide (yes, hide and a lot of the time weep pathetically) from my staff or customers. It was a dark time to be sure. Hence, I started texting people from the faux-privacy of a public bathroom.

Because I’m talking about myself I can justify my behavior and be OK with it, but what I really want to know is what makes a conversation so important that we have to pause biological processes in order that we can continue communicating? I don’t even know why I find it so important when I find myself committing the act. I am sure the person would not mind waiting 30 more seconds before you respond to them and they aren’t ever going to know…Plus, think of how nasty your phone is. Yuck.

Usage of phones is inherently isolating, we disengage from social and environmental surroundings to answer a call, text or a tweet; but doing so in a bathroom, where privacy is expected only doubly isolates us.

I might be on the cusp of a great psychological and social breakthrough but I am hardly smart enough or interested enough to continue exploring this idea.

The short and short of it is that I had texted SBLM while my pants were down but couldn’t admit it! The horror! Why did I even want to tell him? That is the idea we should be exploring here.

Oh hell, I know why.  I’m a chronic over-sharer and I think it is endearing but it only serves to detach myself from men and make me “the bro”. I need to stop this nonsense. I am glad, for once, that I held my tongue.

In other news there is a woman in my office who uses those seat-liner things but does not flush them when she is finished and leaves the liner sitting on the toilet long after she has left the proximity of the loo. What is up with that? That’s so disturbingly gross and inconsiderate. I am going to find her one day, and I am going to tell her to stop.

…Or, since I’m a spineless thing I’ll probably just give her a passive aggressive look and wash my hands haughtily at her…

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