One of our attorneys left her iPhone in the ladies’ loo last night. She did not get it back today, and I suspect she never will. I demand an offiicial study on how many phones are left in bathrooms. Broken down by years, months, gender, and whaterver else will make a chart or something I can feel like I contributed to for when I eventually lose my phone in the bathroom of some establishment that made me first ask for, and then drag around, a key attached to a bouncy house because they’ve “had trouble in the past.”
Our office loos are situated so that the men’s and ladies’ room doors are right next to each other. The hall leading up to them force funnels traffic in such a way that enough momentum could result in accidental cross-dressing. But that isn’t the worst part of it. The worst is when some poor guy exiting the men’s room sees some woman walking towards him and he instinctively holds the men’s room door open for her. And then he realizes what he’s doing and he dies a little inside. And so does she.
Both silently break eye contact and resume their business while carrying the giant psychological bowling balls they just picked up out of life’s maniacal ball return. He carries his in the pockets lined with chivalry. She stores hers in her bra, hoping that she really doesn’t look like a guy, does she?
You thought I was going to say the smell, right? So did I.