CBMused

“How was your weekend?”

As you ease yourself into the working week with the Monday morning office small talk dissecting the weekend’s events like a post-mortem, spare a thought for your fellow workers who have to put up with the drivel.

“Great! I went out on Friday night…. what a hangover…”
“…the kids were both sick, throwing up all night…”
“…quiet one at home with hubby, in bed by 9…”
“… my 2 year old did this huge poo in the middle of the night and woke us up…”

I. Don’t. Give. A. Damn.

While it might be an ice breaker to start the week, after just a few minutes it often degenerates into inane chit-chat and an unwelcome distraction. Just let me get to my desk (with my coffee) and get on with work. Or else I’ll tell you about…

Sipping cocktails at a trendy bar overlooking the water…
Wrapping my mouth around delectable morsels of food at a two-hatted restaurant…
Finishing the meal with an Armagnac so good it brings tears to your eyes…
The inexorably long taxi ride home, sitting close in the back seat….
The mind-blowing sex afterwards…

Still want to tell me about body fluids and bowel movements?

So… how was your weekend?

A short while ago, my place of work relocated. To a dungeon. We didn’t mind the old musty carpet that the deodoriser tried to mask to a nauseating stench. We turned a blind eye to the rodent bait underneath our desks. We didn’t even complain about the lack of cooling and heating, surviving on recycled dusty desk fans or tiny portable heaters. We thought we could cope with the lack of daylight and windows, relishing the tiny square of toughened glass that was more at home in a prison cell than an office.

We moved in with minimum fuss. Considering the status of our new habitat, and in the spirit of camaraderie we tried to make the place our home away from home.

Then we discovered the joys of… unisex toilets.

One unisex toilet. One cubicle. One toilet. One hand basin.

Servicing the odd fifteen to twenty people which included temporary staff, we soon learnt the harsh realities of sharing this private haven. For example, one could never be guaranteed to use the facility just before a meeting, or straight after the morning coffee, or just before going home. Moreover, the boys had no aim, judging by the state of the floor surrounding the toilet bowl. And the girls always used copious paper towels to dry their hands, and left them all piled up on top of the bin. But most importantly, we all learnt, and very quickly, never ever to use the toilet after the guy who always brought home-cooked Indian for lunch.

Granted, there was another toilet should an acute emergency arise, but braving extremes of weather in a significant distance was not a preferred option when duty called.

One could argue that sharing one of the most personal of bodily functions could bring people together. But professionally, I would rather not sit in a meeting with other team members in the intimate knowledge that this one needs to eat more fibre or the other should learn how to use a hose.