Hold Your Water!

Hello dear readers!

This week’s offering has been ever so slightly problematic. It’s taken more than the usual amount of thought and effort to come up with something for your perusal (yes, as hard as it may be to believe, some thought and effort do go into this)... And it’s for a slightly strange reason.

Thing’s are actually going quite well.

Yes, life is pretty good at Seated Perspective Towers at the moment. A situation that is good for the blood pressure but not so good for blogging subject matter.

Luckily there is one tiny little fly in the ointment...

The Joy Of Frittata

Not that I’m saying that this pleasantly unusual lack of drama is something I find distasteful you understand. I’m not some kind of problem seeking adrenaline junky who’s life is incomplete if there are no battles to fight. It’s just that the good life makes for a mind numbingly uninspiring blog entry. I mean who want’s to hear about a man who’s finding training for his new job a pleasant if somewhat intense experience? Who want’s to hear about a week who’s highlights have been getting the car above 50mpg and discovering the joy of home-cooked frittata (thanks Tina)? No-one, right?

A permanent car parking space has been allotted to me at my new workplace with little drama, the kittens we’re currently housing are doing well and not inflicting too much damage on mind or body, and we’re even almost very nearly somewhere close to finished with the kitchen. A reapplication of sealant being the only thing left, and that scheduled in for Monday… With a bit of luck.

 

No, there’s been very little in the way of adventure this week, very little in the way of obstacles to overcome or trials to be endured. Apart from that one thing.

Moving Targets

My new job is a contact centre roll. It’s not my dream job, but it’s where my experience, training, and some small semblance of capability lies. it’s an environment I’m used to, a job I’ve done pretty much all my life. I do, therefore, have a pretty good idea of the kind of targets that one is asked to adhere to, usually on a monthly basis.

There’s call handling time, the amount of time spent talking to customers; wrap time, the amount of time spent doing tasks such as adding notes; there’s punctuality, being there on time on a morning and being back on time from breaks; and then there’s personal time, the time one spends away from one’s desk when not on break. From my experience in the first two weeks in the job, those last two targets have the potential to be a bit of a challenge.

The issue, you see, is the disabled toilets. Now don’t get me wrong, these are more than adequate. There’s a loo on each of the four floors of the building I’ll be working in and each is relatively spacious, has a good number of grab rails, including the drop down support rail you find beside pretty much all such facilities, and paper towels, loo roll and soap all in easy reach.. There’s even a mirror which isn’t always the case (disabled people obviously being afraid of their own reflection), although this is situated opposite the sink rather than over it, making fixing my messy mop of a hairdo that tad more difficult (that’s my excuse anyway, and I’m sticking to it).

 

No, there’s no real problem with the facilities themselves. It’s more, well it's more the getting into them in the first place.

The sign on the door does say ‘for the use of disabled people only’ and the ladies and gents are a matter of a doorway away from it. It’s astounding then, how many times I have popped to the loo, only to find it occupied.

On these occasions I am then left with a choice. I can wait outside, doing the dance of the desperate, whilst the occupant flushes five times and takes an inordinate amount of time to wash their hands, on at least one occasion singing whilst they do so, or I can get in the lift and go down to another floor and use the identical facilities there.

Problem solved then, eh? Job, or at least jobby, done. Well not quite.

Ups And Downs

We’ll take Wednesday as an example. Upon this fine if somewhat overcast day I found myself in this exact predicament, on a fifteen minute break, with the clock already ticking. I opted for the latter option as my bladder had been complaining for the last quarter of an hour. I therefore took the lift down from the third floor to the second, only to find the loo there similarly engaged. The first floor saw me fair no better. A little fed up and uncomfortable, I returned to floor three and resolved to wait. Patience eventually proving to be a virtue, but the possibility of grabbing even a damn adequate coffee evaporating quickly.


via GIPHY

Now this might all seem a little bit ranty and I am by no means suggesting that I have some divine right to my own personal throne-room. The toilets in question are for any and all disabled people. An exception has also been made for pregnant women I believe, which is fair enough. I’m more than aware that not all disabilities are as visible as mine and that there are some people that may need special facilities due to things like colostomy bags, or conditions such as MS, which even in its early days can cause stability issues. It does seem statistically unlikely though that such conditions would be so rife in this one particular workplace.

Toilet Paper

No, I think that it is a definite probability that at least some people are using the enhanced space and privacy of the facilities in question for what I like to call a ‘luxury poo’. The fact that our singing friend left with a newspaper tucked under his arm only goes to strengthen these suspicions.

I don’t like to be a snitch, and I’m not all that keen on asking for any kind of preferential treatment. If the pattern of the last two weeks continues though I think I’m going to have to bring this to someone’s attention, if not for reasons of statistical performance, then for the sake of my poor aching bladder.

Until next time…

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