Wow, it's been almost two years since I've scribed anything on this blog. I forgot that it even existed. It probably would have remained that way had I not experienced something so funny that it made me think, "hey, that's worthy enough to write about somewhere. O, my blog!" And, here we are.

This is a story of true awkwardness and it, once again, involves a bathroom. So, we're bringing in our good, ol' friend MS Paint. If you've read my much older posts, you'll see other uproarious episodes of clumsiness and bathrooms--sometimes one, sometimes the other, and sometimes both. But, the common thread that binds them is MS Paint. So, here we go:

I work at the UN, so here's more or less what it looks like:



As you can see, it's undergoing renovation. OK, enough with the exposition. I tell you where I work because it's pertinent to the story. The UN department I work for has its own Secretary-General and he's my boss of bosses. He's kind of like a Kofi Annan, but not as well-known. For my purposes, though, he has to be treated like a VIP whenever he visits our office. The guy is so important, I feel like I have to worship him when he comes around.

That is me worshipping him. I know I look like a tribal, deformed Three Stooges Moe, but, alas, MS Paint is limited in its capabilities of illustrating my awesome physique. I also didn't know how to signify the guy's importance, so I just stuck a crown on his head.

I don't speak much to him, I'm just responsible for getting done whatever needs to be done-- then he's on to the next one. Conversation is at a minimum when he's around staff, and we all kind of just know to get out of the way.

CUT TO: Bathroom (Interior)
So, I had to really go to the bathroom around lunchtime. I exited quietly from the room, thinking the big boss was out to lunch. This is what the bathroom on our floor looks like:
Two stalls and one urinal. Sinks are not shown, but obviously they're there, even though some dirtbags refuse to use them. But, that's a different MS Paint story.

So, I casually walked into the bathroom, humming my happy song because this room is often my safe-haven from the rigors of work. Only this time, it was a hall of horror. I saw the big boss standing over at the other side of the room. I'm sure most people can relate, but I hate talking to people in the bathroom, let alone someone I completely feared and had nothing in common with. So this was my initial reaction:

After spotting him, I dashed into the first stall:
For a good amount of time, I was safe. I wasn't spotted, and now I could relax. A second later, I heard someone else walk in. I didn't see who it was, so I'm going to portray him as a long-haired cowboy for now:

This is the point when the proverbial poop hits the fan (figuratively, not literally). Now, I've gotten to know the doors of these bathroom stalls pretty well over the course of the years. They're terribly built and a light breeze could probably blow them over. The entire frame also has a knack of shifting over if someone slams the other stall door. Some of you may notice the same things in your own wash rooms. To counter this effect, I usually have to do a little dance by using one foot to lift up the door, using both hands to manipulate the door into position, and then locking the door. Here's a close-up drawing of the distance between the locks of the door:
As you can see, it's a matter of about 3 millimeters that separates the door from the frame. On a good day, the door locks fairly well on its own, but, on a bad day, if someone else comes along and slams the other door, this one comes unlocked, and it swings open really quietly, as if the door is saying, "O, this is gonna be good." Well, this wasn't the good day scenario, it was the bad day one. I guess you know where I'm headed with this.

So, as I'm standing there and as the other guys walks in and slams his door, I'm completely oblivious to the fact that my door is now wide open. My problems were compounded because on this day I chose to wear the most horrid-looking boxers . I can't really describe them. They have this kind of paisley design all over and there's even a rip on the side of them. I didn't know how to illustrate that, so I just drew some symbols on them:
So, as I'm standing there, I hear the guy washing up; mind you, my door is still wide open. As he finishes at the sink I can hear his steps getting closer to the exit door, but I'm thinking that it sounds really loud. Here's my internal conversation: "Wow, those footsteps sound a lot louder than usual. I wonder why my door isn't blocking the sound." Here's what the scene must have been like before I noticed anything:
Well, I finally did notice what was going on because the footsteps were passing right behind me. Just as I turned to look, the guy was right behind me. Here's how it looked:

OK, so I didn't wave, but I might as well have because it was awkward beyond belief. We briefly glanced at each other as I tried everything to get that door shut. He had a look of almost absolute disgust.

There's a period of pitiless, self-loathing that one goes through when he or she is now alone in a bathroom stall, just seen by his or her boss, with ugly-ass boxers and pants down to his or her ankles. I think if a bird somehow came out of the vent and took a crap on my head, it would have made the day complete.

Needless to say, I didn't speak of this incident to him or to anyone else.

I thought that by revealing this event to you all now, it would have provided some type of cathartic after-effect. I was wrong. I'm going to go and cry now. Thanks for listening.