Guardian Angels and Bathroom Gods

There are moments in my life when I can feel that some seraph is watching over me. For instance, there was a time in college when I went to bed in a state of drunkenness. If my dad is reading this, it was the only time I got drunk in college, I swear! OK, I cannot pinky swear on it. Alright, maybe that time in the boys dorm. Do you work for the CIA or what? Never during a school night. Stop looking at me that way! OK, never on a Wednesday night because that’s when I always seemed to have a night class. Can we get back to me slumbering after over indulging on the libations? At some point in the middle of the night, I started to vomit. This is usually a good way to purge the toxic concoction brewing in my stomach, but I was lying on my back and started choking. This is where my angelic guidance councilor decided that it was best for me to puke on my roommate in the bunk bed below instead of dying and gave me enough sense to turn my head. This is good because, I know my brothers, and they would have had “Died like Mama Cass” written on my tombstone. Now my angel thinks his big favor for me is done and spends his time in playing poker; so he can be an extra in the next Ocean’s 11 movie.

Many people have a vision of what their guardian angel looks like. Maybe their angel is Clarence, the warm and gentle soul from “It’s a Wonderful Life” or the beautiful cherub looking Roma Downey in “Touched by an Angel”. Nope. Mine happens to look like Dwayne Schneider from “Once Day at a Time”. Life would be fabulous if it was Tom Selleck in a tool belt, but no, I get a greasy haired weasel in a denim vest and white t-shirt. Go figure.

Flash forward ten years…

My company was getting ready to broadcast the CEO’s end of the year speech. So, what they do is set up TVs in designated areas and broadcast out to us minions. This is a great “Big Brother” idea except that you have to get there early to get a seat. So, I did just that. Well, it is morning, and I had just finished my usual glass of milk and cup of hot tea with my breakfast. I knew I wouldn’t last an hour, so I quickly ran down a hall to where I thought I had seen a drinking fountain. Which for any one that works in an office building knows where there is a drinking fountain up against the wall there are toilets within a 15 feet radius.

I dash madly into the bathroom and darted into the nearest stall. Sweet Jesus, relief from a full bladder is like the sweet sirens from heaven have descended upon you and are singing quietly in your ear. You are calm, quiet and smiling as your once distended bladder regains its original shape and size and the pain slowly dissipates. It was during this calm bliss that I noticed something. A pair of black dress shoes walked past my stall. Not just any black dress shoes mind you, a pair of black wing tips in about size women’s 11. Now in the 1990’s, I was a big fan of wearing Doc Martins with dresses. If it was good enough for Demi Moore and Meg Ryan with their prissy tomboy look, it was good enough for me. I admired the shoes for a full 2 seconds, and then something occurred to me. These shoes didn’t come with skinny clean shaven legs; they came with dress socks and professionally tailored dress slacks in a dark navy with a very light pin strip. OK, that is taking the tomboy look a little too far for me, but to each their own. If you want to be a woman and dress like Donald Trump; who am I to question your fashion sense. Just be warned, you will have your face blurred out in the Glamour magazines “Fashion Does and Don’ts” section. Fascinated with this new fashion trend, I literally watched the wing tips not walk into the stall next to me but stroll up to the far wall, and then the unspeakable happened the owner of these fine dress shoes began urinating.

At that moment, panic began to slowly seep into my body. I was ready to live my life out from within the bathroom stall and re-enact Howard Hughes last years at the Desert Inn in Las Vegas. As the wing tips finished their business and walked back across the floor towards me, I followed the foot steps with my eyes. The dress shoes paused for a moment as the owner pulled open the main bathroom door. I was a stall door away from being busted when I noticed something. I looked down at my shoes and was for the first time horrified by what I saw. These were fabulous red patent leather loafers with these cute tassels on them which I wore with a khaki skirt and a red blouse. I glanced back and forth between my adorable red flats and the large black dress shoes which stood before me. Slowly, I lifted my feet off the ground and began to re-enact the bathroom scene from “Witness” with that boy with those ginormous ears. The wing tips quietly proceeded out of the bathroom. In the middle of this act of desperation, I realized that I was doing a crouching tiger stance by placing my feet up to the toilet seat and hugging my legs. I was so horrified by my predicament, I couldn’t even finish going to the bathroom.

This is one of those moments in your life when you pray to God. And being a really bad Catholic, I gave God about 5 seconds. Nothing! Quietly, I whispered “Schneider?” Noda! Panic set in, and I started praying to any god or goddess that would listen. Zeus, Hades (I’m not picky when I am in a bind.), or any other god who had stepped foot on Mount Olympus. Zero from the incestuous deity crowd. So, I quickly jumped from Christianity, through Paganism, right to Druidism. I started praying to the bathroom stall god (It’s one of those lesser known gods.), so I decided to move up the food chain, as it where, to the bathroom door god. Then like a republican in a closet at the Watergate hotel, I quietly listened to hear if any more men’s shoes had entered. None. Any hallway noises to indicate movement towards the bathroom door? Silence. While still remaining crouched on the toilet, I slowly opened the stall door. Then like a gazelle, I sprung off of the toilet, out of the stall and opened the door to the hallway. I quickly looked both ways down the corridor, no one in sight, and sprinted down the hall like I was a Frenchman during the Nazi invasion. When I got to the end of the hallway, I turned to see if anyone had seen me. Schneider was shooting dice up against the wall with Roma Downey. He gave me the thumbs up.

2 Hour Meeting

A 2 hour meeting is starting in about 10 minutes. I treat this meeting as I would an 8 hour road trip. I plan out what snacks and drinks I will need for this assembly of the grey matter. But 2 hours is a really long time for someone who is mildly ADHD. So, I must determine refreshments, activities, and maybe work in a bio-break if needed. All of this is necessary to get me though the meeting without my head slamming on the table from being driven into a coma induced by technical jargon and just general boredom.

Now that I have secured all the necessities, here are several things that I do to keep myself occupied during the snore fest so I don’t go running about the room causing trouble like a 4 year kid at an adult wine and cheese party.

Mental games:
- Determine the number of calories in a peanut butter cookie if I only ate the crunchy outside and not the soft inside.
- Calculate the last time I had sex without staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out when the dog needs her next flea pill. OK. That’s no fun…Make it into an algebra equation where X=last time had I sex in a phone booth. Factor in a location like downtown London; they have cooler phone booths. Then divide by environmental factors such as during a rain storm while not drinking hard liquor. “Oh, that only happens in those trashy romance novels that you read,” says Brain. “It’s a 2 hour meeting, and it’s my fantasy. Get out of my head.” I shout. “Sorry, I am your head. If I leave, you will start to resemble that wilting head of lettuce that has been hanging out in the vegetable crisper for two weeks.”
Time check: 1 hour and 55 minutes to go.
- Can I calculate in miles per hour how fast hair grows? My brain is rolling around my skull laughing hysterically. “Jerk.” I think to myself.
- When was the last time I flossed my teeth? “Oh geez, you should go back to the hair growth question.” Brain manages to say between burst of laughter.

Random Thoughts:
- Tom really needs a hair cut; he looks like Bozo the clown gone mad.
- How does the ink in a pen not spill out?
- This Chamomile tea is good.
Time check: 1 hour 45 minutes to go.
- Can I fire my Brain for bad management? “I heard that!” says Brain in a very pissy tone.
- Does Jarrod really get invited to every meeting? Or does he just wonder from meeting to meeting?
- Will I get to see Dateman soon? “Hey, stop smiling so much. The meeting people will think you’re not paying attention,” orders Brain. “No way, this is a much better thought then the architectural redesign of a database. Hummm.” “Oh for God sakes, snap out of it.” “You’re a prude,” I protest loudly to Brain.
- The meeting leader says the phrase ‘slice and dice the data’ and I think, “Oh, a salad would be good for dinner.” Brain sneers “Once again, you have miss the point of the conversation.”
- Is it hot in here? Oh no, here comes a falling sleep head bobble.
- Time for a Kegle exercise. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
- How come Lori can never complete a sentence, but at the end of each incomplete thought she says, “You know what I mean?” Brain screams at Lori, “No, I don’t know what you mean. You didn’t finish the sentence! You bubble-headed twit, but I do like her blouse. That is a great shade of periwinkle.”
- Can I subtly scratch my nose so people won’t think I am picking my nose?
Time check: 1 hour 35 minutes to go.

- “Humm, Dateman…Crap! Did you just dope slap the inside of my head?” “Pay attention this is important,” demands Brain. “Meeting Leader is going to repeat himself at least three times, besides I like my topic better.” “You cannot think about such things at work,” says Brain in disgust. “Oh yes I can, and when did you become a Puritan anyway?” I state firmly to myself.
- What will my next Facebook entry be?
- Jack is eating a Snickers bar. Yum, maybe I’ll have spaghetti for dinner. “What? How did you get from candy to Italian food?” “Well, nougat reminds me of.” “Please don’t,” pleads Brain, “I was there the first time and that entire process makes me nauseous. I think the right brain synapses are playing practical jokes again.”
- Just who buys Cynthia’s clothing? She must raid the closets of the old folk’s home and then have her 3 year old kid dress her. What the hell is on that sweater? Are those sea shells with different happy faces on them? And what is up with her hair? She looks like a cocker spaniel who licked an electrical outlet.
- BBQ Fritos would taste really good right now.
Time check: 1 hour 15 minutes to go. “Looking good…”
- Maybe my migraines are really being caused by a brain tumor? Make note to self to ask doctor. “That’s a stupid note to self. I’m not logging it,” says Brain. “Stop giving me migraines,” I yell back at Brain. “You see, I cannot work under these conditions. You are so snippy to me during these meetings.”“Am I PMS’ing?” “You cannot image the pressure I am under to run an entire body. You never say thank you or appreciate anything I do.” “It’s an emergency. I need chocolate!”
- I wonder if I can make it to the French Bakery during lunch?
- When is the new Harry Potter movie coming out? “I told you mid-July. You cannot remember anything,” says Brain snappishly. “Well, if you would stop the random thoughts,” I bark. “Oh, it’s entirely my fault, now is it? When are you going to be the grown-up.” “Bio-break.” I whisper to the person next to me and quickly walk out of the room before I have a break down on myself.

Information I took away from the meeting:
The meeting leader is demonstrating how he architected his project. And from his point of view, it is really good. Apparently, I should do the same thing. Because rumor has it my project is floundering and is about to crash and burn. So of course, he is so fabulous and has come to rescue me from myself. “You see what I am saying to you,” he says to me. I love this statement…that is when brain shouts…”Yes, I am not a freaking idiot.” But out of my mouth falls the words…”Oh absolutely, what a good idea.” Brain says…”You are such an ass kisser.” “No I am not, I just want him to shut up and stop repeating himself.”

Time check: 1 hour to go. “You can do it.”

General Meeting Etiquette:
- If you bring food, it has to be non-crunchy food.
- How to look like you are taking notes, but you are really writing your next blog entry.
- Always get a seat with quick convenient access to the door, so you can take a bio-break without walking in front of the projector.
- Don’t read a text message and then laugh out loud. Big Bossman will give you one of those “Do you want a pink slip?” looks.

Time check: 45 more minutes….”Pay attention. I can do this, right?” I chant to myself.

“OfficeGirl, you see what I am saying to you,” asks Meeting Leader. “Yes, I like new approach. The improvement to the process will stream line the output to be much more efficient for the end users.” I state as if I had a clue. I hear screaming in my head; it is Brain. Must get more chocolate to calm her down.