dear small mousy crazy weird lady who works on my floor,
i didn't judge you when, on your first day, you walked into the men's restroom accidentally.
i didn't judge you when i heard that you were taking naps on one of the armchairs in the ladies' restroom. during business hours.
i didn't judge you when you left your toothbrush in the ladies' restroom. despite the obvious: ew.
and i tried very hard not to judge you every time you insisted on NOT closing the ladies' room door, thus allowing me to hear you pee, cough, flush the toilet, wash your face and brush your teeth. from. my. desk.
i tell you it got harder when, as i started closing the door for you when you refused to, you did not take the hint and start closing it for yourself. but truly, i tried not to judge.
but now? now i'm judging. now i have put yellow signs on the bathroom door politely requesting ladies' room patrons to close the door. and now, you still won't close the door. so i'm judging. and this is what i think:
- you're strange.
- you may eye contact with no one, leading me to believe you think you're invisible.
- you wear glasses that i think you stole from an 80-year-old russian man on the bus.you have terrible manners.
- and you are a bad, weird, rude person for not closing the goddamned motherfucking bathroom door behind you.
- i think you grew up in a barn, lady. because i don't even do that at home. let alone in an office full of people who can, let me remind you, hear you pee from their desks.
- i am angry with you. i don't like you. you are smaller than me, and i am scrappy. i'm saying i could take you. i could so take you, lady.
i swear to god if you don't start closing the bathroom door i'm going to lose my fucking mind.