Fred Wemyss

I had to use the restroom one day at work, so in I went. I was staring at the political grafitti which had been crossed out, re-written, painted over, re-re-written, bleached, re-re-re-written and then expanded upon, when I heard the door open and a voice bellowing "Don't sign the contract!" It was an authoritative voice, designed to make people piss, so it helped me do what I was doing. The voice came closer and the man whose voice it was went up to the urinal next to mine.

"Don't talk to legal until I see the contract!" he said indignantly. Unzipping, he was silent a second. I moved away from him, feeling intimidated and the electric eye detected the shift, causing my toilet to flush. "What noise?" said the man. "I don't hear any noise."

I could hear a muffled voice on the other end of his phone making a noise of protest. "No, I'm not in a bathroom," said the man.

A loud, resonating noise similar to a Slurpee being finished sounded from the stall in the corner.

"What are you talking about?" said the man, walking away from his urinal. It flushed. He ran his hands under the sink and shouted "Keep those sharks out of the office!" He put his hands under the hand dryer. "What?" he said. "What?"

I finally finished and walked toward the sink, the urinal flushing in my wake. I washed my hands and waited for the man to finish his hand drying. The whirring stopped, but he placed his hands under the machine again, causing it to start a second time.

I stood with my hands dripping.

He said into the phone: "Show them the non-binding contract."

The fellow in the stall said, "Hey, anybody, can you see if there's paper in here somewhere?"

I looked in the unoccupied stall. I didn't see any toilet paper. "Um," I said, timidly, "I don't see any."

"Don't let the client see the contract!" shouted the businessman.

"There's no toilet paper?" shouted the occupant of the stall.

"Hang on, please," said the man on the cell phone. "Hey, stall boy, cut out the personal noises. I'm on the phone."

There was a silence, then an ashamed moan followed by the sound of a belt buckle scraping the floor. The stall door opened with a slam.

"I think I've gotta go," said the man. He was still drying his hands, but he was looking at the figure bounding toward him from the stall.

The cell phone man darted out of the bathroom. The other man ran after him.

I stuck my hands under the dryer. A man walked in saying, "Don't worry, I can talk. This is hands free."

An earpiece stick out of one of his ears.

"Nothing to wipe with," I said.

"What?" he said.

"Call for back-up," I said. The door shut behind me.