Toilet Talking

 I have agita about not having written in awhile. I was on vacation but it conjures up some old baggage. It's like the time I went away to summer camp after 7th grade, only to return home to find that Betsy Carlson had a new best friend, leaving me out in the cold. I hope history won't repeat itself here in the blogosphere. Needy much?!

I'm finally getting around to decorating my office. For those of you following along, my boyfriend and I recently built a house, and for the past three months, all we've been doing is buying... and returning. Let's just say that we're very familiar now with the term, buyer's remorse.

Focusing and settling in has been hard in my echo chamber of an office, so I decided that the time was now. I got online this morning and went trolling for desks, filing cabinets, rugs and loveseats. Oh, yeah, I had high hopes of doing it all in one fell swoop. I got as far as a desk and two filing cabinets, which I think is a brilliant start.

My office is going to look like a Pottery Barn catalogue and I don't care. I decided that my time was actually worth something, so instead of shopping around, investigating, comparing and trying to be unique with my decor (for weeks on end like I used to do) I said, f' it. I found a picture of an office that I liked, and I was going to have the items gloriously appear at my door. And the best part? I won't need an Allen wrench or a power drill. I'm bidding the days of assembling my furniture adieu. Adieu!

I picked out the items that I wanted and was at the checkout page, only to see that I didn't get the free shipping that was advertised (in a bright red I might add) You couldn't miss it. I called customer service and spoke with David at extension 2033. SIDEBAR: I just looked at my scrap piece of paper where I had jotted down David's extension, so that I would be accurate here in my post. "OCD Anal Retentive, your table is ready!"

I told David that the discount was not applied to my order. He was on it. I heard his fingers pounding the keyboard, as he asked me for the item numbers. And then, in the middle of item number two, I had to go to the bathroom and coincidentally, it was number two. No problem, I thought, I took David to the bathroom with me.

Herein lies the dilemma. Is it rude to talk on the phone while on the toilet? Of course I could've hit mute, but then I would have had to keep switching it on and off, because we were having a dialogue. He wasn't reciting a monologue. While I balanced the phone in the crook of my neck, I dropped trou and did my business. I don't have to go into the details here (thank you Girlfriend Mom) but I did start worrying about what David was actually hearing.

I managed to complete the job at hand, only to be faced with the flush. He was sure to hear that. I couldn't leave it until I got off the phone because the cleaning woman was here and I didn't know where her next stop was. I hit mute, flushed, and ran (literally) out of the bathroom and hit mute again, continuing my conversation with David.

I'm not sure why I made a federal case out of hitting the mute button. It was as if David's questions, and not wanting the cleaning woman to think that I was uncouth, completely overwhelmed me and I panicked. It incapacitated me in a way that prompted me to question myself and ask, "What is your problem?"

However, upon further reflection, I pose the question, "Who among us has never taken a cell phone into restrooms (private or public) and chit chatted with reckless abandon?" I rest my case. And I got my discount. Thank you Pottery Barn David at extension 2033.