While We’re In Bathroom Mode…
Anyone here besides me willing to admit that they’ve answered a cell phone in the bathroom?
Last week, just as I was stepping up to the firing line, my phone in my shirt pocket buzzed. I’d been waiting all morning for a call from a geographically difficult location, so I aborted my mission (not ready, at that particular moment, to repeat the transgression of conversing with the inevitable karaoke of aqueous sound effects). Only after walking back to my desk, dealing with the call, and heading back to complete my business did I realize that I’d not completely secured certain sartorial ramparts and, though it didn’t qualify as a Janet Jackson-like wardrobe malfunction, still required a course correction in order to surreptitiously remedy the error.
I’ve completely forgotten how this situation would have worked back in the 80s, when only the elite got message beepers. Oh, yeah, there was a human receptionist then, who would tease out an important call while she located you. I love my Verizon service, but its capacity for diversionary small-talk is extremely limited.
