Today I got into a bit of a quagmire. There are 4 bathroom stalls on my floor. I was in stall number 2, minding my own business. Getting shit done. (Not that kind of shit).
Like the sound of a dying llama, strained grunting and moaning (extremely nonsexual) suddenly emerged from stall number 1. Typical me, I decided to play the shoe game, where I try to guess who my bathroom buddies are based on their shoes. Should they do anything incriminating, I secretly and gleefully hold it against them when I pass them in the hallway.
I looked down. Sure enough, there was a very large, size 12.5, tan and wrinkly left foot sitting next to me with coral nailpolish. This foot was wearing a ginormous Adidas shower sandal. It was weird.
The grunting and moaning continued, and then the giant sandal came sliding across the sacred bathroom stall boundary and landed right in front of my feet.
Panicked, I didn’t know what to do. This violated all codes of conduct I had ever known about communal bathrooms. Don’t talk to the person next to you, and definitely don’t play footsies with your neighbors. I was stunned in my seat. ‘Do I play dumb and blind, and pretend that I don”t notice the monstrous shower sandal at my feet? Or do I stealthily kick it over without saying a word in order to save Bigfoot’s dignity?’
Both options would have been pretty logical, but logic has never been my strong point. I had to make a scene.
Me, kicking the sandal over: Cough. ‘Here’s your sandal. I hate it when that happens.’
Bigfoot: Nervous laughter. ‘Thanks.’
Outside by the sink. Washing hands. Face to face with Bigfoot.
Me: I really like your sandals. They look so comfortable.
Bigfoot: Thanks. They are. Sorry I hit you. I was having a pretty tough time out there.
Me: Oh, um, don’t worry about it. It happens. [Have you had Fiber One? Or some Metamucil? Dear God, go eat some raw broccoli.]
Bigfoot: Yeah. More Nervous Laughter.
Me, running to the door: OK, see ya later!
And that was Wednesday.