Wonderland?

The only time I’m ever near the “magical” bathroom is when I’m at work.  Therefore, it’s extremely difficult for me to spend as much time as I want exploring the bathroom.  That’s right.  I went back.  And this time, I opened the door.

Yesterday, while I was working, I decided it would be a good time for a bathroom break.  I didn’t have any more filing. I’d finished most of my research tasks.  I had some free time.  So down the hall towards the bathroom I went.

I didn’t really need to use the bathroom all that bad, but I figured I’d get that out of the way before I went up the staircase.

 After my transaction was complete, I washed my hands (because that is important) and mentally prepared myself for the journey ahead.  The mantra constantly repeating in my head:

—What’s behind the door?—

—What’s behind the door?—

—What’s behind the door?—

I moved around the side hallway and into the room full of mirrors. 

—What’s behind the door?—

I even did some disco moves for old time’s sake.

—What’s behind the door?—

Step by grueling step, I climbed.

—What’s behind the door?—

I reached my hand out to touch the door knob.

—What’s behind the door?—

I firmly grasped it and gave it a twist.

—What’s behind the door?—

I flung the door open and…

Now here is where I’m going to stop for a minute and explain something to you.  This is my magical place, and I almost don’t feel like sharing.  Because it wasn’t a janitor’s closet, it was something else. 

I’m only going to tell you now because it would be extremely rude for me to build up anticipation and then let you down.  Besides, that would hardly encourage viewers to follow my blog.  And the more people that follow my blog, the more I feel the need not to disappoint them. 

It’s a vicious cycle.  But I digress…

Now where was I?

Oh yeah…

I flung the door open and entered into the magical bathroom realm.

I’ve decided that the door no longer leads to Narnia, but instead has more in common with Wonderland.

After entering the room, there was a small square roomish area full of five different closed doors—not including the one I’d just come out of; so, there was a total of six doors.  The only other object in the room (no it wasn’t a table with a key on it) was a large drink machine.  And as I stared at the drink machine, I couldn’t help but have Lewis Carroll’s words—“Drink Me”—pop into my head. 

I swear that if there was some money anywhere on me at that moment, I’d have bought a Coke and prepared to shrink. However, it was fortunate that I didn’t have money to waste because in hindsight, I need to save my money for my Grand Tour of Europe.  Every dollar counts.

However, it was at this moment, I realized that I didn’t give myself enough time to explore this magical bathroom world.  I honestly hadn’t expected there to be anything so potentially vast behind the door.  So as my bathroom break was now pushing into indecent limits, I had to return to the office.

Besides, I didn’t want to get lost by going further down the rabbit hole.  If I’d gotten lost, it might have taken hours to get back to work, and I can only imagine the trouble I would have been in. 

Also, there was the nagging notion that maybe I’d end up somewhere I shouldn’t and the Queen of Heart’s would have my head removed.  So before I could forget which of the six doors I’d entered through, I went back into the bathroom and returned to work.

Next time, I think it would be best if I went to the bathroom after I’m finished with work for the day.  That way, I’ll have time to explore without feeling the need to return to work.   Unfortunately, I’ll probably never remember to think about the bathroom when I get off of work, as I’m too busy trying to run out of the office before someone stops me.

Horse Necrophilia

For the last couple of months, before I was accepted in the graduate program at USC, I temporarily got a job at an insurance investigation company.  Just saying that I worked for investigators made me feel like I had just stepped into a James Bond movie.

Avant.  Tiffany Avant.

So, on my first day of worked, I was super pumped.  I dressed quickly and even did a dramatic slide over the hood of my car before jumping inside and speeding off to work.

For the entire drive to work, I had the song “Secret Agent Man” stuck in my head.  But I couldn’t help it.  In my mind… I was a spy.

It wasn’t until I got to my new job that I had my illusion completely destroyed.

Now just for reference.  My dad’s side of the family is very, very rednecky.  So much so that Jeff Foxworthy is their idea of high society.  At any of our family reunions, there is usually one guy (not necessarily the same guy every time) who isn’t related to anyone, but somehow got invited. 

This guy, the one without teeth, who is drinking beer from a tea pitcher, will then decide that you are the hottest thing since Cindy Crawford.  From there on out, its very hands on.  He starts touching you inappropriately while laughing at his own perverted jokes.

Feeling uncomfortable yet?

Well, this investigation company was very much like that guy-- working there made me feel as if I was about to get physically and mentally raped.

After training at the corporate office, I thought I was prepared for anything.

For this job, I was responsible for managing the investigators.  It was going to be my job to make sure that they turned in their notes on time—since they didn’t seem to be capable of doing that, even though they’d been lectured about punctuality on numerous occasions.

So, after a couple of days of notelessness from one of the investigators, I sent him an email that went something like this:

I know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times, and I don’t really want to beat a dead horse about this; however, I really need for you to turn your notes in on time.  I can’t finish my work without those notes.  So please email them to me as soon as you can.  Thanks.

Now I didn’t think anything about this email after I sent it, but apparently I underestimated the ignorance level/redneckyness of my new job and co-workers.

The very next day, my boss pulls me aside and informs me that it is inappropriate for me to say that one of the investigators is having sex with dead horses.

WHAT?!?!

It was then that I knew I had to quit.

The investigator, somehow, got it into his head that I was accusing him of fucking dead horses. 

I just wanted his notes and instead got the strangest office protocol lecture in the history of office protocol lectures.

So much for being a super sexy agent in a 007 film.