So this will probably hearken back a little to my Trumanshowphobia, but I really, really hope the bathroom at work doesn’t have two-way mirrors or security cameras.

This isn’t because I’m afraid of people seeing me pee (although…ew), but I use the bathroom as a no-holds-barred stress relief zone.

Let me paint you a word picture: I am the only girl. Which means the bathroom is all mine. The warehouse is large and the architect (or whatever) assumed that a varied number of people would work at this location, so they built a bathroom to accommodate a significant number of women. Their mistake, because it’s still just me.

The bathroom door is slightly broken. It doesn’t close gently; it slams. The slam sounds like a car backfiring or a gunshot. For the first month or so it scared the shit out of me. Now, it’s more like a starter pistol for fun.

Don’t get me wrong; I drink a lot of water at work, so when I go to the bathroom, it’s generally for the normal reasons, but at least once a day, I treat that place as my sanity sanctuary.

When I’m there, I do amateur yoga. I sing. I dance. I practice my golf swing. Exploits have included:

  • High kicks and singing the classic song “Kung Fu Fighting”
  • Lip syncing Britney Spears’s “Stronger” while strutting up and down the aisle.
  • Inventing yoga moves to try to alleviate shoulder pain (if my coworkers heard me shriek out in pain, I hope it wasn’t misinterpreted).
  • Singing “Fuck You” into the mirror. Yes, directed at MYSELF.
  • Contemplating for a good two or three minutes whether or not it would be a good idea to try and sneak in a nap, but ultimately deciding it’s a bad idea.
  • Jumping around like Star Wars Kid (no joke).

And on and on and on. Judge me if you want, but you’re not welcome into my cave.

I figure we all have those places where we can totally just be. Sometimes that place just happens to be the bathroom.

2 responses to “Woman-cave

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