Tuesday, February 5, 2008

The Panic Room

There is a panic room on the 8th floor of my building. Some call it the pump room, me I just panic in it. I sit there and freak from the moment I walk up to the door. The newest complication is the wall directly across from the entrance to hell. It has been cut open so that you can see for as long as the eye can see, people. This means they can see you- walking in to do your business. Beyond that, at the right angle, I'm fairly certain they'll catch a glimpse of the goods if the stars align "properly". And what are the bets out there that at some point the stars are going to align? That being said, since a large group of strangers saw my arse not too long ago, I'm hoping to maintain some level of modesty. Is that too much to ask? For strangers not to see me topless? And you know what- if I was just naked that'd be one thing, it would be horrible. But to kick it up a notch, I'm attached to a humiliating machine like a cow on the farm. Seriously, if I haven't said it before- let it be known. The cow is a good animal. We don't thank them enough. It's a tough life. If they aren't being fattened to find themselves on my plate they are being juiced. It isn't pretty.

On Monday there was stranger danger in the panic room. I was in there doing my business- when in strolled (literally strolled- took her sweet ass time) a stranger. Sat down, practically on my lap, and whipped 'em out Monday. Is it too much to ask to:
(a) not take your sweet ass time to come in
(b) If you have to come in, can you not look at me and chat
(c) and if you are... can you introduce yourself? I typically like to know the first names of those getting a visual first base.

Ever since then I put off going to that god forsaken room... and you know who suffers? My poor bambina... so tomorrow for her- I'll suck it up and run the risk of having a demented Mardi Gras moment. Until then I'll just get prepped for that story- cause it's going to be a doozy.

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