This is exactly how it occurred (except for the parts that I made up for dramatic emphasis):
“2:30” is what the clocks in the lower right hand corners of my computers' screens displayed. It's not important to note this, but still interesting, but I've taken great pains to be sure that each of these clocks are perfectly calibrated to atomic time, so I know with some amount of certainly that it was 2:30 to the well-calibrated eastern standard zone. Wrapping up the call that I had been been working, I offered my final bit of troubleshooting, “Tell ya what, turn if off and take the battery out. Leave it out for about 5 minutes, then put it back in and turn it on.”
“But, my phone's not really the--”
“If you continue to experience difficulty, give us a call back. We're here 24/7 to assistance you with any technical problems you may experience.”
“Yeah, but my phone's fine. I think the server needs to be--”
“Can I be of any other assistance to you today?”
“Is there anyone else that can--”
“Thank you for calling VITA Customer Care. Have a nice day.”
I sat, waiting and watching; a lioness on the Serengeti checking her surroundings for the most opportune moment to make my move. I was also looking for some visual cue that it would be okay to sneak out and have a quick smoke before I entered the Executive Conference Room (which is also the room with the illusive 1-stall ladies facility). Receiving no such cue, I moused over the option that removed my name from the available analysts pool; casting one final glance over my shoulder to the empty managerial pod, I clicked “Not ready: Meeting” and got up from my desk with all the suave charisma I could muster (at least, until I tripped on my phone cord slightly).
Swift were my footsteps as my heels clacked against the industrial tile covering the floor. A distinct 'woosh' could be heard as the fabric of my pants swirled about my legs. I removed the pen from my hair, tugging down the librarian bun which the heat-vent over my desk necessitated. Resume, notebook and purple gel pin in my hand, I made my way to the smoker's patio. Upon reaching the threshold of the large metal security-door, I flicked my zippo and partook of the sweet nectar of the 'nervous cigarette'. This was the cigarette to calm the nerves and force the synapses to jump to action, ensuring sharpness of mind for the oncoming endeavor. Glancing at the resume one final time, I flipped the black toner face-down, realizing that re-reading the resume at that juncture (and worse to mention: noticing a typo...!) would have been detrimental to the power-mood I was attempting to conjure. Power-mood in place, I disposed of my cigarette, gathered my credentials and pen, and clacked back through the halls toward the Executive Conference Room garnering cheers and winks from co-workers who knew what I was about to do.
The smell of stale coffee and copier ozone floated heavy in the air, while the sounds of yawns and quiet mumblings of candidate offerings penetrated the large double doors that hid the conference room from my view. Rolling out a swivel chair from a nearby smaller (and in all ways, completely inferior) conference room, I took a seat in the hallway. Crossing my legs and clicking my pen (a nervous habit I picked up at some point in my past—probably college), I began making a mental list of colors likely to be chosen for large professional hallways—taupe, mauve, sage, periwinkle—I remembered a case-study on the soothing effects of yellow and wished that the designers of this hall's palette had taken my comfort into consideration. It was at this thought that one of the large double-doors opened, and my primary interviewer beckoned me in. Re-depositing the chair from whence it had come, I clacked into the conference room and realized with great chagrin that the three managers would be sitting on one side of the conference table, me at the other. Lopsided tables and disproportionate seating arrangements tend to bother me, and I was irritated instantly. However, my discontent was belayed soon thereafter as I caught a glimpse of the Executive Conference Room Ladies Facility. It was everything I had imagined a heavenly latrine to be, free of shit-smells and automatic hand dryers. And it was standing there, with the door wide-open. Regaining my mood, fully empowered, I returned my attention to panel before me, and took my seat.
At this point, I find it necessary to mention that I am bound by confidentiality not to discuss the proceedings of the actual interview. I will, in its place, divulge the following: they asked me questions and I answered with all the vigor and confidence that is within me. Needless to say, I amazed and wowed them. At the conclusion of the interview, I stood from my seat, thanked the men for their time, and clacked straight to the Executive Conference Room Ladies Facility without so much as a backward glance for permission. I confidently closed the door and marveled at the comforts that the executives probably take for granted. It was my reward for performing well, and at the end of the whole ordeal, it was the best pee I'd had in quite some time. My future plans now reside in one unwavering goal: to be someone who gets to use executive ladies facilities whenever she wants to.
