If You're Doing These Things, I Have a Message for You: Knock it the "eff" Off!
Observe: As I sit this morning on the freeway - "sit" and not "drive" being the operative word, the driver behind me appears to be tailing me a little closely and as we go five feet. stop 10 seconds. go five feet. stop 10 seconds, he seems preoccupied and a bit slow with the reaction time. It's a clear morning and I've got a fairly decent view of him and it would seem he's smoking the world's longest cigarette. I mean we're talking Audrey Hepburn, Breakfast at Tifanny's cigarette holder long. It's very white and thin and occasionally he removes it from his mouth and then wait . . . he's frothing at the mouth. This can't be good. A person operating a moving vehicle should - ideally - not be frothing.
I'm confused. Is he chewing tobacco and somehow swirling it around with this long white stick? (Can you tell how bad traffic was? Lots of time to observe and solve the mystery). But. Wait. The froth is . . . blue. Now I'm scared. Is he having a seizure? Should I dial 911 from my cell and say, what? I'm on the northbound middle lane of I-27 and there's a driver behind me . . . foaming blue at the mouth? And that's bad, right? Send paramedics, okay? 'Cause I don't think that's really supposed to be happening. Not good for him and certainly not good for any of us here on the road with him.
And then I see him . . . spit. Into the passenger seat. (I'm guessing there was some kind of spit receptacle in the seat. At least I hope for the sake of any future passengers there was a spit receptacle!) I can't decide who is the bigger idiot: Him, for brushing his teeth while navigating rush hour traffic or me, for taking a good 5 minutes to figure out he was brushing his teeth while navigating rush hour traffic. Please - don't answer that.
While we're on the subject of idiotic people doing mystifying things, here's another for you: Women who bring their cell phones into public restrooms and have conversations. This happens to me on average (at work, not at home - thank heaven for small favors!) at least once a day. I'm trying to be all annoyingly healthy and drink my 8+, 8-ounce glasses of water a day. My skin looks nicer than ever, but I'm sure my co-workers think I have a bladder infection or some kind of kidney condition. The point is - I visit the ladies' room a lot. So I have a lot of experience with this. And it is just . . . bizarre.
Maybe I have issues. I embrace that. Perhaps I was potty-trained too early (or too late as the legend goes). Yes, I could be stuck in some Freudian stage and that is why I'm all messed up. Or maybe even I was once traumatized by the sudden and unexpected flushing of one of those toilets with the automated laser/flushing thing. Fill in my sick issue of your choice here:
But. When I am in a public restroom - and yes, ladies, you are not in your own home in your own bathroom and you're not in someone else's home, so that makes work bathrooms "public", whether you like it or not - there is nothing more disconcerting than hearing a woman crash into the bathroom talking loudly about something inane, THEN hearing her sit in the stall next to mine (when I'm the only one in there and there are EIGHT OTHER EMPTY STALLS BUT I DIGRESS!), plunk herself on the toilet, begin urinating and telling her husband what's she making for dinner ALL AT THE SAME TIME.
You know what? My urethra shrieks in shame and everything stops. And suddenly I have what they call "stage fright" and now I can't do a damn thing until you've finished your conversation and who knows how long that's going to take?? Because while you don't care that your husband hears YOU going to the bathroom, I care that he can hear me. I'm sure he's perfectly nice and a very understanding, supportive man but I don't know him and I don't like the idea of the sound of my peeing being transmitted over the cellular airwaves. Really, ladies - you're taking multi-tasking much too far. One or the other. Not both. Please.
I apologize for the potentially graphic and offensive nature of this post. Believe it or not, even after teaching the kids about sex and all kinds of things most adults don't mention in pleasant conversation, I prefer not to engage in long discussions about my bodily functions. But, anonymous cell-phone-in-the-ladies'-room-users, today was the last straw!!! You pushed me too far. Please don't make me do it again. And if you can't do it for me, think of the children.
(I have no idea what that means, but as Kathy Griffin says, it seems to get people to pay more attention.)
Labels: Manic Rants