The small box I sit in at work (aka my cubicle) was recently relocated up to the second floor.
The outcomes: much more visibility (Meh), many more people around (Not as bad as an extreme introvert might think), significant distance from the Sniffler (Hallelujah!!), many more stairs taken in the course of a day (Fitness win), and easy access to the “nicer” ladies room…
The “nicer” ladies room is qualified as such in the following ways:
- Moderately cleaner. Moderately, in that neither is pristine, but neither is horrific. All of the facilities get cleaned and supplies refreshed during the day and at night, but the one on the first floor gets more traffic, in that it’s on the first floor, proximate to the cafeteria and the entryways.
- Basket o’ goodies. In the second-floor restroom, there’s two baskets on the counters, with various care products in them. Desperate to refresh your hairspray or need a little hand lotion? There’s plenty to choose from, provided you don’t mind cast-offs (which I suspect they are) and you’re not skeeved out about touching things that other people have touched (hopefully after they washed their hands, not before). In the first-floor bathroom, the only thing on the counters was the ever-present run-off of the handwashing process.
- Comfortable seating. No, no, not THAT seating. In the first-floor restroom, there’s a couple of chairs. They’re sturdy, basic, office-y plastic chairs, and they are near the door, just around the corner and a respectable distance from the more, um, utilitarian parts of the room. (No one ever sits in these chairs, to my knowledge, but if you happen to come in between meetings carrying a notebook or papers or something else you don’t want to have to juggle in the stall, it’s a convenient resting place, not too close to, well, the business at hand.) In the second floor restroom, there’s a couch in the corner. A couch. As in fabric and cushion … materials not easily sanitized. In the corner. Of the bathroom. Practically staring right into the first stall.
Honestly I wouldn’t even want to set anything on it, let alone sit there. But then, I doubted anyone would ever sit there, really… Surely it’s more for ambiance than anything else…
Nay, not merely sitting, but half-laying, leisurely, having a long and pleasant chat on her cell phone…
Not my place to judge… not my place to judge… not my place to judge…
Oh heck with that. Here’s what-all I didn’t say but thought Really Loudly:
- Lady, that is clearly a private phone call. However, this is not a private space to be having that conversation. We can all hear you. Actually, you can be heard in the hall outside, if you happen to care about that.
- Lady, this is not your living room. You are dressed as if you understand you are at an office, but curled up on that couch like it’s your home and no one else can see you getting all comfortable there.
- Lady, this is not a phone booth. It is not in any way a space intended for the purpose for which you are using it. Your callers probably can hear and probably do not enjoy the sounds of flushing and water running that inevitably go with holding calls in an office restroom.
And lastly and most importantly…
- Lady, that couch is in flushable reach of other seating that does just that. Does this not phase you at all as you lean all over it? Or was essentially laying in trace amounts of human waste part of the plan for your day?? Seriously: Ick.
Judgy judge judge judge.
Yeah, OK. My bad.
Still, I was overdue for a good peeve.
I may have (literally) moved up in the world, but apparently here on the second floor they are equally in need of some posted rules for the ladies room.