Urgently Going Back to Work

The venti latte had been a mistake.  Maybe not as much as picking drive thru, as opposed to using that time to use the coffee shop’s washroom.  If anything, the coffee was fine.  In fact, it was exactly what I had needed to prepare for the day.  Even the drive thru had been prompter than I had remembered.  However, now I desperately needed to go pee.

Earlier, when I had rushed out of my condo, I could feel the slight tingle of my bladder.  However, I knew was on a tight time line and it was only a thirty or so minute drive, so I ignored the sensation.  My body wasn’t used to the ebb and flow of this new fast paced morning routine.

I had timed everything to exact execution…of course not including an emergency bathroom break.  It was the first time physically returning to the office in over two years and all this normalcy felt so completely foreign.  The new boss was very eager to get to meet us face to face.  To her, allegedly Zoom meetings didn’t count.  Although, I would have been happy to remain the elusive tile on my co-worker’s computer screens for much longer; dutifully submitting my data from my makeshift office dungeon ala kitchen table.  Alas, she wanted to encourage a sense of synergy (whatever that means) and community.  “Somebody needs to lay off the business psychology books”, a friend from work had quipped in the office chat.

The other week, when new boss had made the announcement, I went through my old work attire.  Blessedly, most of my shirts had fit, albeit, more tightly than I would have liked.  I had been wearing them consistently for my video conferences, but wished I could say the same about my work pants.  After a sedentary fifty months of pyjama pant attire, my slimming black pants had transformed into sausage casing.  Thank goodness for the internet, though.  It had taken a few tries to get my sizing just right, but I found a couple pairs that would limp me through the first week or two back in the office.  Shopping had gone well discount code-wise, but I discovered that my half assed attempts at workouts had not.  The pant size I had ended up with was a much bigger number than I had ever anticipated.  If I was honest, the pants were still fairly tight.  The waist band pushed into my stomach leaving a noticeable red imprint on my bloated belly.  I would not cave and buy a bigger pair.  Instead, I promised myself I would start my workdays going forward with a refreshing HIIT workout and would be in my old size in no time.  Plus, not having an office in my kitchen would have to pay off, right?

Within ten minutes of the hectic commute (When did everyone stop signalling?), I had regretted not getting a larger pair of pants.  The band pushed into my tender tummy, as my urgency grew.

“Oh shoot!”, I muttered, as I reluctantly passed the only gas station between me and the rest of the way to work.  Since I was locked in the middle lane, fantasies of a U-turn seemed futile. 

Every bump I hit with my car and every pothole felt like fresh hell on my abdomen.  “Pay your taxes, dammit!”, I grumbled at nobody in particular, while the surrounding vehicles crawled. 

My desperation drove me to turn into a parking lot with a port-a-pottie.  I prepared for the already overwhelming smell and grabbed, with my sleeve, on to the handle.

Locked!

“I’m gonna be awhile!”, a gruff voice informed me.

After conferring with my iPhone, I realized didn’t have even a little while!  I couldn’t be late for the new boss!  After two agonizing minutes of shuffling outside the outhouse, I resigned to continue on my drive to work.

I tried yoga breaths, as my whisper of need for relief crescendoed with every stop and start of traffic.  As my office came into view, it felt like I had a raging current in my body, demanding to be released!

I didn’t have time to consider if there would be any change to the office’s parking spot assignments.  In fact, I am pretty sure that I parked like a jerk.

After unbuckling the squeezing seat belt, I exited my small car; every move creating new discomfort.  I wondered if my kidneys would blow.

Trying to maintain as much composure as possible, I walked the supposedly short distance to the entrance and went through the awkward office doors.  Frankly, I didn’t even care that I was likely walking funny - each step forward felt like a tremor on my ever constricting bladder.

When I laid eyes up on the receptionist, a plethora of bad memories returned.  She gave me her classic appraising glance that I had seen her so artfully use on newbies to make them small.  Since I could now taste the need to relieve the tension badly, I tried to sneak past her in vain.

“Where do you think you’re going?  How can I help you?”

I tried to brush her off with, “I will be right back - just uhh, need to use the facilities.”

“Washrooms are for customers and employees only!”, she barked.  She was enjoying this and Seriously?  The damn receptionist that I had previously worked with for years didn’t remember me?  Since she had run the physical office’s skeleton crew while the majority of us had worked from home, I could tell that the power had done nothing for her already legendary ego.  

Well, second time first impressions be damned!  I knew that, whether she genuinely remembered me or not, it was impossible for her dislike me more than before.  Hoping to not draw further attention to my office re-emergence, I bolted for the bathroom.  I didn’t want to give her the added ammo of peeing myself in her presence.

I hustled to the familiar, yet, now strange office bathroom while the “office manager” (as she liked to call herself) followed in close pursuit.  I could hear her grow frustrated with my oblivion to her piranha like significance in our fishbowl.  Her authoritative demands to “stop” and “you can’t use the facilities without my permission” shrunk into a nagging whine.  Meanwhile, my increased pace did nothing for my situation’s urgency.  Frankly, I didn’t even care when she hollered for my new boss’ intervention for “security measures”.

I didn’t even have time to appreciate that all the stalls were vacant and flew into the first one.  Despite the receptionist’s intent to stop me, she blessedly stayed outside the bathroom door, although, I am pretty sure she likely heard my loud gasp, then sigh, as I finally took my relief.  

Since I was now officially two minutes late for the new boss, I quickly squeezed the snug pants over my waist and tried to look as presentable as possible.  I would now need every inch of decorum thatI could muster, as I could still hear Ms. Office Manager yipping at me from behind the door.  After a quick inspection in the mirror, I scrubbed my hands, then rinsed.  Unfortunately, the paper towel dispenser was empty.  Then I discovered the hand dryer that had been broken when I last worked in the office?  It was still broken.  I wondered about how hand washing protocols were being followed here!  Guess I’d need to drip dry.

To my horror, as I exited the washroom’s safe haven, the receptionist was standing beside my new boss with a superior smirk on her face.

“Oh!  Cassandra?  It is so nice to finally meet you in person!”, my boss gushed.

Before I could throw the receptionist a look of victory for her misjudgement, my new boss went in for the wettest handshake in history.  I was embarrassed and horrified.  What a way to make a first impression!  And COVID wasn’t exactly “over”… weren’t handshakes verboten? 

Before I could apologize or…something, my boss, stifled the desire to wipe her hand.  Instead, she turned to the “Office Manager” with a stern, “Alexis, didn’t I ask you to refill the paper towel yesterday?  Oh and once you’re done that, why don’t you help Cassandra get settled in her office.”

That was when I realized that I was going to like this new boss.