Last night’s episode of, “How To Get Away With Murder,” reminded me of what I use to endure when I had to pee at work. I, too, refused to eat or drink anything trying my damness to keep from using the toilet at work.
The first excerpt concerns my working years at Exxon Company, U.S.A. in New Orleans, LA from 1981 – 1991. And the second is from my working years at Apex Automotive Warehouse, In Northlake, IL from 1991 – 1999.
“I remember the last public function I attended for Exxon. It was an all day affair that began early in the morning. While the speaker spoke on the Deming Principles (very big at the time), breakfast was served. There were lots of ice cold juices, bottled water, and coffee being served to the participants. My boss’ boss sat at the table with me and insisted that I have some of everything. Sweat broke out across my forehead at the possibility of having to use the restroom in so public a place with so many of my colleagues in attendance.
At ten o’clock a snack was served. Then back to the meeting room for more Deming.
Lunch was a catered affair of herbed chicken, saffron rice, mixed vegetables, water, juice, cold soda pops, and more coffee. I was getting nervous. I hadn’t been to the restroom to relieve myself since before leaving for work early that morning.
At each meal a supervisor from one of the drilling groups had come over to my table and had stood at my shoulder and commented on the small amount of food I was eating.
About two in the afternoon, when everyone – over two hundred people – were a bit lethargic from sitting so long and too much food, I thought it safe to duck out and use the restroom.
When I returned to the ballroom, everything stopped. I realized instantly what had happened. They, all two hundred people in attendance, had been treated to the same filth that I heard on a daily basis when I used the restroom at Exxon headquarters.
“Eliza, wipe …………………………………….”
When I sat back down at the table, one of the engineers in my group looked at me with such pity in his eyes that I wanted to hide under the table. How could they have done that to me?”
“Lunch time. I got an hour for lunch. But instead of relaxing over a noonday meal, I’d drive myself all the way home, from Northlake to Maywood, run up two flights of stairs, use the toilet in private, run back downstairs, and do the thirty minute drive back to work. After, I returned from lunch, I made sure not to drink any coffee or water, or eat anything for the rest of the afternoon. This was my way of lessening the number of times I needed to use the toilet at work.”
Now, I don’t not eat and I don’t run home. Unlike in the episode last night, the stalker girls don’t stop with just, “Don’t forget to wipe.” They go a little further. But I’m sure the FCC would not allow all of what is screamed to be said on national TV.
The above excerpts were taken from my book, STALKED! By Voices. The re-edited version goes on sale for $1.99 on Sunday, January 29th.
Eliza D. Ankum
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