The Cleaning Lady is Stalking Me

Originally posted January 3, 2006...

So my office has one of those full-time cleaning people whose job is to go around cleaning up after us slobbish oafs. She's phenomenally quick at picking up on any little mess, and indeed seems to have some kind of radar for detecting them. She has a lovely little conveyance that carries her trash cans, brooms, mops, cleaning supplies, and the like; you can usually hear her coming a mile away with this contraption. The familiar CLICK CLACK BUMP RUMBLE of her cart's approach lets you know that you're not safe anywhere...she could be coming to clean your desk RIGHT NOW!

The problem with this particular individual is that she has a knack for knowing EXACTLY when I have to use the restroom. Here's how the process usually goes: I'll be sitting at my desk minding my own business when suddenly nature calls. I calmly arise from my desk and stroll leisurely towards the nearest restroom (conveniently located about a country MILE from my desk!). I arrive in the restroom and commence the flow, when suddenly (but not suprisingly) I hear that old familiar sound...CLICK CLACK BUMP RUMBLE. "Please let her go to the ladies room first," I think to myself, "and let me whiz in peace for once!" No sooner has this thought crossed my nimble little mind, however, than I hear yet another old familiar sound. In what can only be described as a Tommy Boy-esque scene (remember the old "Housekeeping?" gag?), there is a gentle rap at the door. Never accompanied by any verbal warning, the door swings open ever so slightly to reveal...not a face just yet, but rather a blue feather duster indicating an intention to clean the restroom. I jump ever so slightly (just enough to get a tell-tale dab of whiz on the old pantaloons), and shout out "There's someone in here!" The feather duster beats a hasty retreat, presumably to the ladies room, and I'm left to tend to my whiz-soaked trousers and fragile sense of privacy.

I know what you're thinking...she's got to be on some kind of cleaning schedule, and my dirty little business just happens to coincide with her timing, right? EH EH. As nature is wont to do, the timing of these little episodes varies greatly depending on myriad factors (water intake, work load, conference calls, etc.), and there's never any telling what time I'll be able to arise. The only thing I'm certain of is that three seconds into my flow I'll hear the old battle cry..."CLICK CLACK BUMP RUMBLE."

I'm still trying to decide whether this is just a coincidence, or whether the big urinal in the sky has some greater plan that is drawing our paths to one another. Either way, I'm sure of this... if I ever whiz all over the wall/floor/ceiling/whatever, I'm CERTAIN that there will be a wise old feather duster-wielding sage to clean up after me.