Thursday, February 28, 2008

Yet Another Brazilliant Move

I absolutely cannot stand when people conduct cell phone conversations in a public bathroom stall. It’s rude—I feel like the sounds I might be making in the bathroom will be transmitted over the phone line to the other end, so it’s like having an even larger audience in the restroom. Plus, it’s just strange to hear someone talking to themselves in a stall and not know whether they’re on the phone or just weird.

Last week or so, I misplaced my cell phone. I looked through my backpack, my purse, my jacket, my car, and my office, but couldn’t find it anywhere. Calling the thing went straight to my voice mail. Soon thereafter, I checked my bill online, and someone was calling Mexico with my phone. I contacted my wireless provider, cancelled the phone, and purchased a new, gorgeous PDA phone (which I’ve wanted for a while—I had a RAZR previously and it was a piece of junk). The problem continued, though, that I had no phone numbers, since my old phone was stolen. My old PDA has most of my numbers in it, but it’s in a box somewhere and I haven’t unpacked it yet.

I’m a bit of a paranoid person, so if I see a person calling me at an unusual time, I’ll answer the phone, because I get worried. “Oh, no, why did Dad call me in the middle of the afternoon? Is my grandmother okay? Did someone die?” You get the picture. Well, now that my phone had no contacts listed, every phone number calling was an unknown. I had no idea who was calling me at any time.

So it came to pass that one afternoon I went to the bathroom at work and had just seated myself when my phone rang. I looked at the screen hopefully but it was a number I didn’t recognize, with a Dallas area code. I made a split second decision to answer it, since I didn’t know who was calling or if it might be an emergency.

It turned out to be my insurance agent with an important question. She needed me to fax her a document, and I had nowhere to write a fax number, as I was still in the bathroom. Now, I made a second split second decision: finish my business and get out of there quickly, so I could run to my office and write down what I needed.

Why didn’t I just call her back? I wasn’t sure the phone number displayed on my phone was the one I’d need to call her at, and I didn’t have anything with which to write a different number if I had to go through multiple extensions. Again, a split second decision.

I stood up and covered the mouthpiece so she wouldn’t hear the toilet flush, then quickly pulled up my scrubs and exited the stall, cell phone tucked between ear and shoulder. As I walked toward the sink, my attending walked in the door.

It could not have been more obvious that I’d just come out of a stall on my cell phone, and there was nothing I could do about it. At all. I just had to go to the sink to quickly wash my hands and attempt to race out of there before anyone else came in.

Trust me, it was awesome.

2 comments:

Allison said...

A) gross.

B) do you have my number?

Tiny Shrink said...

A) I know.

B) No.