Just my luck…

Just my luck…

I’m sitting there minding my own business when the eighty old, soft-spoken painter comes into my office.

He props the door open and I’m thinking to myself that I don’t particularly want people know I’m within a stall, sitting on the throne.  You’d think he would check around to make sure no one was in the washroom prior to propping the door wide open.  Nope, not this guy. I can see him through the crack of the stall door.

Shuffling his legs and feet ever so slowly, I swear he was over 100 years old. He places his paint and brush on the sink and leaves with the door still wide open.  Geez, now what am I going to do?  He returns hunched over, dragging in his ladder, which was partially on his back.  I’m hoping he’ll now shut the door.  Nope, not this guy.

To matters worse, the hallway leading to the washroom only amplifies the conversations I can hear coming from the lunchroom.  If I can hear them, can they hear me?!  I wanted to die.

As he’s up on his ladder, scenario’s are running through my head.  What if he falls, lands on his back and his head is now under the stall, looking up at me.  He’s screwed because there is nothing I can do, except, “Hi, how’s the weather?”, and then he can tell me all about his grandkids. We’d be there for hours because no one would come looking for us.  My mind was trying to mess with me.

Clearing my throat hoping he’ll hear me I gave a quiet, “cough, cough.”.  He slowly makes his way off the ladder.  Finally he gets the hint to shut the door.  He pokes his head out the wide-open washroom door and then shuffles back to up his ladder.  Are you serious, he thought it came from outside the washroom?  Oh man. I cleared my throat a couple times, but no response. *sigh.

I was going to have to be a little louder.  “Psst.” . he steps off his ladder and now he’s  checking out the faucet taps. He puts his ear to them!  Really!? You’ve gotta be kidding me!

Completely frustrated, I had no other option but to toss the extra roll of toilet paper up and over the stall to get his attention.  On the ladder, it hits him in the back. Almost falling off his ladder he yells, “Aaawww!!!”.  In his European accent, “Why you try kill me?! I eighty years old!”. Placing his hands on his chest, “My heart not young. I’m not game at fair you toss ball at bottles and knock them off.”

Having explained to him my concern about the wide open door and trying to get his attention,  he stated, “I heard you but I thought you a strange young man in the toilet. I don’t disturb your play time.”

Passing through the lunchroom one of the guys asked, “How was you’re play time?”.  Everyone burst out laughing.  They had heard … I wanted to die.

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