Mysterious Visitors
Twice now after I’ve walked into one of the two bathroom stalls in the bathroom down the hall from my office a tall blonde woman has walked into the stall next to me, whistling. I’ve never felt like whistling when visiting the toilet, but to each his or her own. I’m on the watch for this one. Like my collection of superballs I also collect recurrent sightings of mysterious visitors.
1. Carbondale, Illinois. Bright white-yellow hair, orange face oompa loompa style. He often wore a bright blue jacket. The man walked a steady-pace loop around Carbondale, one leg of it swinging through the upstairs and downstairs of the Student Center. I’m not the only witness.
2. Iowa City, Iowa. Balding guy with black strands horizontal across the top. Short-sleeved white button-down shirt, gray pants, black socks and shoes. Laytex gloves. All of this every day. He passed my house, would be gone for an hour or so, and then he would come back the same side of the street, carrying mysteriously full trash bags. Every day. When I moved two blocks away, he was on that street, too.
3. Branchburg, New Jersey. Balding guy with black curly hair. Various combinations of bland casual work attire. Worked in the tech department where I was teaching. In every class I taught, excluding the creative writing class in another town, he entered during the middle of class either to bring in a TV, video camera, etc., or to remove one, none of which ever pertained to my class that was in session. He acted as though the students and I weren’t even there. The first time I asked him what was going on. He emitted a nasally indiscernible syllable, which I couldn’t help laughing at along with my students after he left the room.
4. Branchburg, New Jersey. Judith. Saw her frequently walking on Finderne, wearing a red satiny jacket and too-short stretch pants. Very weathered face, wild brown-orange curly hair, very weathered hands. I know this because she began coming to the writing center where I tutored and asking me for the definition of most words on a given page, while writing a research paper on sports medicine. One day I arrived at the school, where the writing center was and where I taught. I decided to wait an eternity for the elevator because I’d woken up with The Neck Problem and couldn’t move my head, neck, or back, much less walk many stairs while carrying a bag of heavy books. She passed me and said, "Take the stairs. You’re lazy."
5. Edison, New Jersey. Whistling Toilet Lady. Here’s to an exciting future.
1. Carbondale, Illinois. Bright white-yellow hair, orange face oompa loompa style. He often wore a bright blue jacket. The man walked a steady-pace loop around Carbondale, one leg of it swinging through the upstairs and downstairs of the Student Center. I’m not the only witness.
2. Iowa City, Iowa. Balding guy with black strands horizontal across the top. Short-sleeved white button-down shirt, gray pants, black socks and shoes. Laytex gloves. All of this every day. He passed my house, would be gone for an hour or so, and then he would come back the same side of the street, carrying mysteriously full trash bags. Every day. When I moved two blocks away, he was on that street, too.
3. Branchburg, New Jersey. Balding guy with black curly hair. Various combinations of bland casual work attire. Worked in the tech department where I was teaching. In every class I taught, excluding the creative writing class in another town, he entered during the middle of class either to bring in a TV, video camera, etc., or to remove one, none of which ever pertained to my class that was in session. He acted as though the students and I weren’t even there. The first time I asked him what was going on. He emitted a nasally indiscernible syllable, which I couldn’t help laughing at along with my students after he left the room.
4. Branchburg, New Jersey. Judith. Saw her frequently walking on Finderne, wearing a red satiny jacket and too-short stretch pants. Very weathered face, wild brown-orange curly hair, very weathered hands. I know this because she began coming to the writing center where I tutored and asking me for the definition of most words on a given page, while writing a research paper on sports medicine. One day I arrived at the school, where the writing center was and where I taught. I decided to wait an eternity for the elevator because I’d woken up with The Neck Problem and couldn’t move my head, neck, or back, much less walk many stairs while carrying a bag of heavy books. She passed me and said, "Take the stairs. You’re lazy."
5. Edison, New Jersey. Whistling Toilet Lady. Here’s to an exciting future.
2 Comments:
Shucks, Kate. I'm blushing. For real.
the other day i walked into the men's room at work, and this guy backed out of a stall, zipped up, belched and left. there was another guy still in the stall.
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