Nap Where You Can

Not long ago, my compatriots at The Velvet Prison™ and I were sitting around dutifully tapping away at our computer keyboards when I received a summons. Mother Nature was calling, and she wasn't offering the option of not taking the call.

So I popped out of my faux Aeron chair, and made my way to the men's restroom.

Since I'm a lowly plebian on the Food Chain of Corporate America, my wee cube is far from the glamorous exterior spaces of the building; near the core, far from the windowed offices where the golden light of New York City falls across gently across the upturned, perfectly-tanned faces of The Media Elite as they toil at their teak and oak workstations.

In short, the men's room is right across from my cube, so it was a short walk.

I need to digress for just a moment here to point out that, earlier this year there was a reshuffling of people, and a large contingent of The Socially Awkward were relocated to the side of our floor opposite us, but we all share a common set of restrooms. In the interest of fairness I need to point out that the men's restroom on our floor was never a beacon of sanitized sterility, but these new arrivals... well, let's just say that if our bathroom was a neighborhood, property values would decrease, and Rudy Giuiliani would be cracking down on quality of life crimes.

Anyway, I walked across the aisle and into the restroom. I don't want to linger on specifics, so suffice it to say that, rather than the urinal, I was in need of a toilet stall.

So there I was, transacting my business, indulging in a little catch-up reading with the latest copy of Entertainment Weekly, when suddenly a sound insinuated it's way into my quiet little meditative world.

Someone was snoring.

In the stall on the other side of the stall next to mine.

And not just snoring. Snoring. With an uppercase "S."

Most public restrooms, as you know, are tiled to within an inch of their lives. Floors. Walls. Ceilings. Backsplashes. Hell, sometimes even countertops. Makes 'em easier to clean, I suspect. But it also ups the noise amplification factor by I don't know how much. And whoever this guy was, his snoring was loud. Loud enough that -- I shite you not -- the metal walls of the toilet stall were vibrating. I have no idea how he didn't rattle himself awake.

The snoring went on for as long as I was... transacting my business, and even after I got up, washed my hands, and returned to my desk. I shushed my compatriots after returning, and we all leaned in to try and hear the siren call of the snore from within the sad little echo chamber of poo.

And we could.

We were snore amazed.

There's some sort of moral here. I'm not sure what it is. Perhaps I'll just leave you to decide that for yourself.

But by all means, if you catch me snoring somewhere inappropriate, bang on something ferchrissakes.