I recently had an embarrassing moment. I realize I have these regularly, and at least once a day I discover I’ve either been talking to someone while sporting a milk mustache (or a real one if I’m not careful), or I’ve managed to inadvertently flash an entire city.
So telling you I had an embarrassing moment is kind of a no-brainer. It’s like telling you that Donald Trump has a lot of money, or that Jessica Simpson can’t understand fractions. It’s just something you know.
But recently I managed to step it up a notch with my embarrassing moments. (I’m such an overachiever). Of course, this story involves food, and it’s somehow bathroom related, which given the amount of gas I have on a daily basis, isn’t that shocking.
So let’s just get this story started. Let the shame begin.
A few days ago I went to lunch with a couple coworkers. I was on a lengthy conference call prior to the lunch and to keep myself awake during the call I drank copious amounts of Diet Coke (and no, it wasn’t combined with liquor…much to my chagrin…and my emergency stash of liquor was depleted during the last call).
Since I consumed approximately 2 liters of cola during the call, (and I’m not a camel despite my love of the desert), I needed to use the restroom. However, my coworkers were ready to leave, and they would clearly be devastated if I didn’t come with them, so I left without using the facilities.
We went to a trendy restaurant where the entire place was open and everyone could see everyone else because of the layout. I was happy as it made for good people watching and I was ecstatic because I could judge people from the comfort of my own table (while inhaling pretzels with dipping sauce.) I hate to be judgmental while standing. This restaurant was so accommodating.
We were seated on the second floor looking down on the other patrons. I felt like a queen on her throne. And the thought of a throne reminded me that I needed to go to the restroom soon. I immediately asked the waiter where the restroom was located.
Okay, well, maybe not immediately, but after I ordered my drink (and asked about the specials…and ordered the pretzels. Don’t judge. I was hungry). The waiter pointed to a door that was around the balcony on the second floor and before he could tell me anything else, I bolted towards the door.
I walked up to the trendy door that overlooked the restaurant and noticed it appeared to be a single restroom. I was happy to know I’d have some privacy, but at that point I really didn’t care as nature was not only calling, it was texting, instant messaging and posting it on Facebook. This girl had to pee.
I opened the door separating me from sweet relief and was shocked at what I saw. The restroom was apparently a make shift restroom complete with a toilet and sink stationed in what was originally a broom closet.
I had more space in my glove compartment, and that was stuffed with crackers, nail polish, and an emergency brush in case I was chased by the paparazzi. (I’m waiting for them to realize that I’m famous and important).
The space was tiny, but that’s not what was particularly shocking about the sight. What threw me for a loop was the woman sitting on the toilet doing her business. What was worse is that I’m pretty confident she had been there a while as she appeared to have made herself comfortable and there was a fragrance all her own emanating from the small space.
She was sitting and leaning forward, fully focused on the task at hand (or butt). She had her elbows resting on her legs and she was engaged in the battle of her life(or at least it appeared that way given her red face and deep breathing methods).
At first I thought she was in labor and wanted to recommend an epidural, but then I realized the only thing she was giving birth to was a food baby.
It took me a moment to realize what was going on, so I stood there like a fool with the door open, exposing this woman (and her ratty underwear) to the entire trendy restaurant. Once I computed what I saw (and once the noxious smell hit my nostrils), I did something to further embarrass myself.
I yelled “Oh shit!” and then slammed the door shut. Immediately after I yelled the profanity I realized my behavior was in poor taste.
For those who hadn’t seen me open the door, they were aware of it when I screamed. And why did I choose a profane word that was another word for poo? I was basically announcing to the restaurant what this woman was doing.
For a moment I considered opening the door briefly and following up my “Oh shit” comment with “no pun intended”, but I didn’t think she would find the humor in that (nor did I want to expose myself to that smell again. Clearly that woman ate a high fiber diet).
So I did what any self respecting person would do. I busted ass and got out of there. I practically knocked over a woman on my the way to my seat and then realized she was headed straight to the bathroom. Perfect!
I grabbed her arms as if I was about to tell her the world was going to end (or that Community will be on hiatus). In my mind, both are equally devastating.
I told the unsuspecting woman that the door wasn’t locked on the restroom, and there was a woman in there fully engaged in her duties. She looked at me as if I was completely crazy (she wasn’t wrong), and nodded her head in agreement. She probably thought I was imagining it all, and the fact that my hair was ratty and my sweater was covered in dog hair probably didn’t help.
The woman walked toward the restroom and instead of opening the door, she stood outside the door and waited. She was the perfect patsy! I was hoping the restroom warrior wouldn’t necessarily remember who opened the door on her since her focus was clearly on her bowels and not her surroundings.
Maybe she would think the nice woman waiting to use the restroom was the a-hole who exposed her to the restaurant. Yes, that was completely logical.
I walked as quickly as I could back to my seat, careful to keep an even pace, as my bladder was nearly overflowing. I sat down and told my coworkers what happened, which resulted in ridiculous jokes about the event for the next several minutes. I attempted to laugh a few times but found it painful since I still hadn’t used the facilities. Of course, that didn’t stop me from drinking my iced tea. After all, a girl needs fluids.
I kept my eye on the restroom door and finally the warrior emerged, sweaty from her battle, but looking more comfortable (and a few pounds lighter). I considered going up to her and asking her what she ordered so I could avoid the same pitfall, but I was afraid seeing my face would trigger her memory and remind her I was the person who opened the door and not the nice lady in the cat sweater.
I was fearful I would trigger a post traumatic stress syndrome, and since I’m so caring and thoughtful, I decided to refrain. (That, and she looked like she’d been through enough for one day).
However, the rest of the meal I had to keep my face hidden from her view, which wasn’t an easy task considering I was two tables down from her, and I’m a loud talker. (I know. You wouldn’t have guessed it, right?)
The worst part of the rest of the meal wasn’t the attempts to avoid eye contact with her (or the crappy dipping sauce for the fries), it was the fact that I knew I couldn’t get up to use the restroom because I would have to walk by her table and trigger her memory. I had to sacrifice myself for the good of mankind (or maybe just her). With every bite at lunch I was more and more aware of my situation.
Maybe it was fear that someone would open the door on me and the nasty cycle would continue to repeat itself. Or maybe it was because I never wanted to be confronted with that horrific smell again. Whatever the reason, I decided to avoid that restroom.
The walk back to work was a painful one (and a slow one). As soon as I arrived at the office I headed straight to the restroom, knocking on the door before I entered. I tried to think of the lesson I learned as a result of the whole endeavor.
I learned to knock before I open a restroom door, not to tailor my profanity to a specific situation, and not to order the goat cheeseburger again (as it was clearly the cause of her issues). Oh, and I also remembered I needed to buy scented candles.