2 Text -n- 2 Tinkle
I have a very strict policy when it comes to blogging about work. I don't do it. It's just a bad idea.
I'm telling you this because one could easily assume that the following story takes place at work. But it doesn't. I don't blog about work. This story happens to take place in the other location I go every single day and see the exact same people – Noontime Mass at the Cathedral of the Immaculate Redeemer, which is near where I work. (What can I say? I'm addicted to their Eucharist – so flaky, and made from scratch!)
Anyway, so I wasn't at work, but had just finished Mass (and lunch), and was taking my afternoon nap, like I always do, when someone came into the bathroom and stood at the urinal just on the other side of the metal partition from where I was seated (taking a nap). Soon, the sounds of tinkling joined the sounds of my napping.
Tinkle, Tinkle, Nap, Tinkle, Nap, Nap-p-p-p, Nappity, Nap-p-p
So far, nothing out of the ordinary here. But then:
Tinkle Tinkle Tap Tap (beep beep), Tinkle, Tap (beep), Tabeep-tabeep-tabeep
The gears started turning in my mind. What was he doing? Playing a Gameboy or PSP? At the Urinal? Does he have some kind of new-fangled urination technology I don't know about? A bluetooth enabled P-Mobile phone? That's it... He must be texting someone.
I pondered how important the message must be to require mid-tinkle texting. Even on my most frantic and urgent visits to the urinal, the tinkle timetable is no longer than two minutes – tops.
Tinkle tinkle tinkle, Tabeep tabeep tabeep Then – flush, flap, zip – he flushed the urinal, flipped the flap on his phone, and zipped up his fly.
In that order.
By now, I had finished napping and was standing up. I looked over the top of the partition and identified the tinkling texter as he exited the bathroom.
So, I knew who he was. And I knew what he was doing. But why? What text message could be so important that it can’t wait two minutes – tops?
Then it dawned on me: He must be as addicted to those delicious, flaky, made-from-scratch Eucharist as I am and, before he got any, had a sudden, urgent need to go. Standing in line, mouth watering, starting to fidget, he began shifting from one foot to the other, thinking “Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now.” Finally, legs crossed, he realized he couldn’t wait any longer. He broke from the line and whizzed off to the bathroom without even having time to tell a friend where he was going in such a flurry.
I imagined him dashing to the urinal while holding his legs together and doing a sort of half-squat-prance, reaching into his pants and pulling out his phone with one hand (while doing something similar with the other) – getting to the urinal just in the lick of time. With a sigh of relief, he began to text his friend who was still in line for the Eucharist.
Brb. Had 2 p. Snag me a cple xtra Eucharists 4 l8r
So, having answered that question to my satisfaction, I washed my hands and made a mental note that if I ever needed to borrow a cell phone, not to borrow his. If someone else asks to borrow his phone in my presence, however, I don’t know what I will do. I am not the type of person to just stand by and watch when someone is in peril. Whether they are trapped at the bottom of a well, have their hair caught in the doors of a Muni train, or are about to cradle a possibly tinkle-tainted cell phone against their cheek, I’m a take-action sort of guy. That’s just how I roll.
But it would be a little shocking to inexplicably bat it out of his hand before the unwitting borrower got hold of it and brought it up to their mouth. I will have to devise a more discreet cell-block maneuver – some kind of ruse, perhaps, or a distraction of some kind. Something that will trigger a reflex, making people immediately want to hide their cell phones.
Omigod! Is that Naomi Campbell with Russell Crowe?!
That could work.
I'm telling you this because one could easily assume that the following story takes place at work. But it doesn't. I don't blog about work. This story happens to take place in the other location I go every single day and see the exact same people – Noontime Mass at the Cathedral of the Immaculate Redeemer, which is near where I work. (What can I say? I'm addicted to their Eucharist – so flaky, and made from scratch!)
Anyway, so I wasn't at work, but had just finished Mass (and lunch), and was taking my afternoon nap, like I always do, when someone came into the bathroom and stood at the urinal just on the other side of the metal partition from where I was seated (taking a nap). Soon, the sounds of tinkling joined the sounds of my napping.
Tinkle, Tinkle, Nap, Tinkle, Nap, Nap-p-p-p, Nappity, Nap-p-p
So far, nothing out of the ordinary here. But then:
Tinkle Tinkle Tap Tap (beep beep), Tinkle, Tap (beep), Tabeep-tabeep-tabeep
The gears started turning in my mind. What was he doing? Playing a Gameboy or PSP? At the Urinal? Does he have some kind of new-fangled urination technology I don't know about? A bluetooth enabled P-Mobile phone? That's it... He must be texting someone.
I pondered how important the message must be to require mid-tinkle texting. Even on my most frantic and urgent visits to the urinal, the tinkle timetable is no longer than two minutes – tops.
Tinkle tinkle tinkle, Tabeep tabeep tabeep Then – flush, flap, zip – he flushed the urinal, flipped the flap on his phone, and zipped up his fly.
In that order.
By now, I had finished napping and was standing up. I looked over the top of the partition and identified the tinkling texter as he exited the bathroom.
So, I knew who he was. And I knew what he was doing. But why? What text message could be so important that it can’t wait two minutes – tops?
Then it dawned on me: He must be as addicted to those delicious, flaky, made-from-scratch Eucharist as I am and, before he got any, had a sudden, urgent need to go. Standing in line, mouth watering, starting to fidget, he began shifting from one foot to the other, thinking “Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now.” Finally, legs crossed, he realized he couldn’t wait any longer. He broke from the line and whizzed off to the bathroom without even having time to tell a friend where he was going in such a flurry.
I imagined him dashing to the urinal while holding his legs together and doing a sort of half-squat-prance, reaching into his pants and pulling out his phone with one hand (while doing something similar with the other) – getting to the urinal just in the lick of time. With a sigh of relief, he began to text his friend who was still in line for the Eucharist.
Brb. Had 2 p. Snag me a cple xtra Eucharists 4 l8r
So, having answered that question to my satisfaction, I washed my hands and made a mental note that if I ever needed to borrow a cell phone, not to borrow his. If someone else asks to borrow his phone in my presence, however, I don’t know what I will do. I am not the type of person to just stand by and watch when someone is in peril. Whether they are trapped at the bottom of a well, have their hair caught in the doors of a Muni train, or are about to cradle a possibly tinkle-tainted cell phone against their cheek, I’m a take-action sort of guy. That’s just how I roll.
But it would be a little shocking to inexplicably bat it out of his hand before the unwitting borrower got hold of it and brought it up to their mouth. I will have to devise a more discreet cell-block maneuver – some kind of ruse, perhaps, or a distraction of some kind. Something that will trigger a reflex, making people immediately want to hide their cell phones.
Omigod! Is that Naomi Campbell with Russell Crowe?!
That could work.
