The Mixed Up Brains of Lisa Weinstein

Talking on the Toilet

I like to drink at work.

Wait, let me rephrase that.

I like to drink specific beverages at work.

More often than not, you'll see a mug filled with decaf coffee or a can of diet coke sitting amid the slew of papers and files that routinely litter my desk.  As a result, you'll frequently find me wandering down the hall to the small, three stall rest room my office shares with other companies that make their home in our business complex.

When I make these daily pilgrimages, I first pull my pocketbook from the depths of its secret hiding place (a drawer), and throw it over my shoulder, a source of comfort during my restroom journey.

My male readers may ask, "Why do you need a pocketbook just to go to the bathroom?"

My female readers scoff at such a silly question!  There are a myriad of items of vital importance that may come into play during a restroom visit....lipstick, comb, brush, floss, tweezers, hair clips, mouthwash, and feminine protection of all shapes and sizes. (Men are thinking...why did I ask?)

So, earlier this week I walked the now beaten path down the hall to that oh so familiar room marked "women"on the door, chose the middle stall and went about my business.  A few seconds later, someone else walked in and took the stall to my left.  Nothing unusual there, I thought.

Suddenly, from the deepest bowels of my pocketbook, I heard the familiar sing-songy sound alerting me that someone had dialed my cell phone.

Awkward.

Did I risk answering the phone and letting the woman in the stall next to me hear my private conversation?   As much as I wanted to pretend the sound did not exist, I also knew that my 14-year old daughter Melissa had spent the day at a friend's birthday party, and could very well be calling me to discuss pick up plans.  I should probably at least glance at the number to see if the caller might be my offspring.

One look at my phone revealed a set of numbers that I did not recognize, yet indicated the call came from the local area.  Hmmm, Melissa could be calling from a friend's phone, it certainly would not have been the first time she'd done that.  I bit the bullet, hoped the woman on the other side of the door to my left wouldn't mind, clicked on the "answer" button, and said hello.

A deep voice not immediately recognizable came back through the other end.  "Hello, is this the Weinstein's."

"Yes," I responded, my curiosity peaked.

"Oh hey Lisa, it's George.  I got a new cell phone and I had this number and I wasn't sure if this was your's or Bob's," came the voice of the man at the other end of the line.

So now that I had determined the caller's identity, a handyman who often did work around the house, I became absolute in my desire to prevent him from learning that I spoke to him whilst sitting atop a porcelain throne.  I wanted to give him my husband Bob's cell phone number as quickly as possible and get him off the phone before any "bathroom" noises gave my position away.

"Please don't flush," I whispered in my head to the woman in the next stall, hoping she had telepathic powers.  "Please don't flush.  Please don't flush.  Please don't flush"

I started giving George the correct phone number for Bob when I realized that the lady to the left did not exhibit the ability to read minds.

FLUSH!


If George heard the distinctive sound of the water swishing down the pipes, he at least had the good sense to not let on....and I will never know since I certainly will NEVER ask him.  (I can just imagine the next time the guy is here cleaning the gutters.  "Hey George, y'know I was on the can when you called! HAHAHAHAH!") No.

Thankfully, George took Bob's number and promptly ended the call.  I put my phone away and sat on the throne for a few long minutes after I had completed my business, waiting for the lady to the left to leave, lest she learn the identity of the "toilet talker".

Later that day, I shared the tale with a co-worker who joined me in laughter as I relived the embarrassing incident.  Just then, another co-worker quiently got up from her desk, walked over to join us, and, with a sheepish look on her face, practically whispered, "Lisa, that was me."

At this point, instead of wanting to dig a hole and jump in upon learning the identity of the lady to the left, I simply roared with renewed laughter, my co-workers joining in, including my bathroom-mate!

So, if your cell phone rang while you were "conducting business", what would you do? Would you answer?  If this has ever happened to you, please share!!

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