The Standoff

I had today what I can only call a Ladies’ Room Standoff. Or Sitoff. I don’t know.

This has happened before. I go in, needing to….take care of business that’s a little more complicated than just a tinkle, and someone’s already in there, in the other stall. Fine. Maybe that person is finishing up; I’m thinking she’ll flush, wash her hands, maybe check her hair, and I can do my thing in peace and solitude.

So I have a seat and do, well, something else while I’m waiting. And there’s nothing. Just a stony silence. No rustling of toilet paper. No metallic “ting” from the feminine hygiene product bucket supplied so that we don’t flush anything that ought not to be flushed. I wait another moment. No shifting, no flushing.

And I realize that this person is not going to leave.

I am supposing it’s because she’s got a similar situation. She entered expecting to make a drop-off in relative privacy, got herself settled, and in I walked. I’ve ruined everything. Yet I, too, have needs.

Apparently we’re both just too dainty to let it go, so to speak. To do our dirty work without regard for the other worker, I mean. Neither of us is budging, but something’s got to give.

I’m a martyr by nature. When confronted with the last cookie in the jar, I’m the one who will say, in a somewhat loaded manner, “Oh, I’m FINE. YOU have it.” And then I will silently seethe. Or gloat, depending on who gets the cookie. In this case, I verbalize nothing. I get up, flush, wash my hands, and leave.

And then case the door.

2 thoughts on “The Standoff

  1. Ha! You would not have to worry about that in Quebecois Canada. They have no shame and just let it fly, and off to living- after hands are washed of course.

  2. Pingback: Sticking Up. | Lisa McColgan

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