Trapped
I admit it freely, I absolutely loath having a fucking converstaion when I'm at the urinal holding my freakin' johnson. Excuse me for my rudenss, but it just strikes me as the wrong time to catch up on idle chit-chat. I don't want you to know how I'm doing and I don't need you inquiring about how I'm doing...everything is fine, rest assured if something was not proceeding according to plan...well...I'd go see a doctor.
This is one of those general pet-peeves that I tolerate and am forced to participate in against my will, basically becuase I don't want to be a rude asshole to my co-workers. I've learned to live with it, roll with the punches, accept life and its cruel, cruel fate. So now its just more an amusing aside, something that when it happens I observe outside of myself and smirk about it.
Until today, this morning as a matter of fact. When a co-worker bellied up to the urinal next to mine and asked me pointedly, "Hey Jeff, what's up?". A rather loaded question under such circumstances.
Not knowing really how to answer I went with what seemed safe , "Not much.", I replied; which, was both factual and non-commital...thankfully the sureal nature of the moment kept me from instinctively inquiring, "What's up with you?".
And...good night