If there's one place in which we can all agree we'd rather not be disturbed, it's in the restroom. This is doubly true in public places, and triply true at work. Why? Because it's a public place where you just happen to know everyone who's dropping trou next to you.
If this wasn't awkward enough, there's always that woman (or man, I suppose. But I'm a gal, and this is my blog. Sorry, fellas.) You know her. Every office has one. She could be the nicest person on the planet in the outside world.
But inside the restroom, she is your mortal enemy.
All you want to do is take a nice onesie in peace, and get back to work. But not only does Nancy Nicepants break the ultimate, sacred rule of never selecting a latrine next to an occupied stall, but she saw you walk in. She knows it's you. And by golly, she's ready to chat it up! And unfortunately for you, your options are limited: Either carry on what is most assuredly going to be the most awkward conversation of the week;
Or, if you choose my route, you can channel your inner Liam Neeson and nip that shit right in the bud.
Sorry, Nancy, but I cannot do restroom conversations. I just can't.
So Nancy bustles out of the restroom, providing you with a moment's peace to do what needs to be done. You vacate your stall, wash your pretty lil' paws, and think you're in the clear.
But oh, wait! No you're not! Here comes Susie McFancybitch to talk about some stupid thing, shimmying herself directly between you and the paper towels, while you stand there with wet hands and limited patience.
Seriously, ladies. There are a finite number of very simple rules. If we all follow them, we can ban together and prevent the chamber pot from becoming a chamber of torture:
#1: Unless you absolutely must, never choose a stall next to one that's already occupied.
#2: No talking. Ever. Unless you're offering me money, cheesecake*, or informing me of a bomb scare, I guarantee you, I do not care enough about what you have to say to tolerate awkward bathroom banter.
**cheesecake is delicious.
It's amazing how something as simple as a doorway is capable of creating an awkward hoedown that would put even Son-in-Law to shame. It's a familiar story to us all: You're feet away from a doorway, and suddenly, someone seemingly materializes out of nowhere, determined to occupy that same door frame at the exact same time as you.
I know this situation is awkward, but why make it more awkward by standing there for five minutes apologizing? Simply thank your traffic jam partner for the dance, and move on. It's really not that difficult.
This, however, is not the worst doorway faux pas. Oooh no. Get up on your high horses and call me ungrateful all you want for this next one, but you know I'm right.
We've been taught since childhood that it's polite to hold the door open if someone is walking behind you. While this is true, there is a certain point at which holding the door becomes unnecessary and awkward. It's a simple equation, really.
Seriously. First thing in the morning, the last thing I want to do is jog half a mile, because somewhere off in the distance, someone is trying, and failing, to be a gentleman. On occasion, it's been so ridiculous that I have to question the other party's true motives. Are you trying to make me run? Are you saying I need to exercise or something? Because true or not, that's really presumptuous, and is not your decision to make. Fuck you. Go inside. I can manage on my own, and will do so at whatever molasses pace I choose, thank you very much.
If I'm a few steps behind you, then you have my thanks, good sir. But this:
....is just unnecessary. I've taken the liberty of breaking it down into the following chart:
Last, and certainly not least:
Close of Business Etiquette
I'm going to keep this one short and sweet:
Do you like having to stay past your shift, to help someone who dropped the ball cover their tracks, with little or no thanks? No? Neither does anyone else. If you ever, under any circumstances have anything do to with creating a situation like this for someone:
Then there is a special place in hell for you. And by hell, I mean the trunk of my car.
Simple, simple rules, folks. Spread the word, and make the world a better place.
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