tmi thursday: in which my job almost went down the toilet

Four years ago this June, I interviewed for a teller position at the bank where I work now as a member of the branch management team. (Well, it isn't exactly the same bank, since we've since merged been bought out merged with another financial institutional.)

(And since we're like the step-children with a no-good biological father, [or former CEO or something] we took their name.)

But that's neither here nor there.

So. When I initially interviewed, I had to drive downtown to the main offices superspice early in the morning. After dressing in a matchy-matchy navy blue skirt-and-jacket-type-suit-thing, I poured myself a giagantic travel sized mug of coffee and headed downtown. A little uneasy about the parking situation, I allowed myself plenty of time. Too much time.

Since I had fourty-five minutes to kill, I stopped into a Heine Brothers for some coffee that would obviously taste superior to my Folgers, lukewarm and unappealing by then. I ordered the bucket-size and sat down to people watch and mentally prepare for the interview.

I arrived on the correct floor of Bank Tower, appropriately early, and hoping to visit the ladies room to run a hairbrush through my tresses and whatnot before the interview started. But when I came off the elevators I was greeted by locked glass doors to my right and to my left. (In front of me, more elevators.)

I was buzzed in and gave my name to some uninteresting security guard.

"Have a seat. Mrs. Interviewer will be with you shortly." He immediately picked up a phone and dialed an extension.

Damn. I really kind of needed to go to the bathroom.

I sat. I wondered in an off-hand manner if there would be a required drug test.

I considered asking the security guard if he could direct me to the facilities -- afterall, I was fifteen minutes early -- but I hesitated since he had presumably already alerted Mrs. Interviewer that I was ready and waiting. What if she came out of her HR Office to get me and I wasn't there? That might look bad.

So, I stayed put. And the urge to go skyrocketed. Shit. It must be from all the coffee! I. was. overcome.

Mrs. Interviewer arrived and looked eleven months pregnant. Surely, she would be understanding. Well, she'd have to be, because this couldn't wait.

After the "it's so nice to meet you's" I went ahead and just laid it out there.

"Look, I hate to ask this, but would you mind terribly if I used the ladies room before we begin? I had a fairly long commute this morning." I kept the cheer in my voice and pretended my rectum wasn't betraying me.

"Oh, of course. It's no problem. I could go, too, actually! At eights monts pregnant, I swear I may as well move my office in there!"

So, we went around a corner and then around another and I walked with my ass checks clinched together and she basically waddled. We must have been quite the sight.

Then. Inside the restroom, there were two empty stalls. Praise be to God. However, when she sat down in the one next to me, I realized that there was no way I could take a sheedoobie nextdoor to my interviewer. A) It wasn't going to be silent. B) It was not going to be without a horrific odor. Plus, aren't the senses heightened in pregnant women?!

So, I waited. I waited until she was finished washing her hands and until awkward silence filled the ladies room.

"I'll just be another minute!" I prayed she would wait in the hall, and not at the mirror oogling her own baby bump. I wanted to scream, "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE! SAVE YOURSELF!"

"Oh, okay. I'll just wait right outside then."

Thank. God. and. all. that. is. Holy.

I let loose.

When I finally emerged from the loo feeling about ten pounds lighter, I knew I had to say something.

But what?

"I'm so sorry. I drank a ton of coffee this morning. I guess that was a bad idea!"

How did she decide to hire me? Was it out of pity? But, seriously. Who forces an interviewee into a situation where there is the remote possibility that said interviewee might have to ask the HR lady whether or not she could spare a square... or perhaps a little more?

(Thank GOD there was TP in that stall.)

And, that this is the end of my shittyspice story.

 Visit Lilu's blog for more tragic tales!