Orgasmic

OK I want to quickly mention the orgasmic power of a good wiz. I know, I know, that just sounds gross and crude. But every morning I go to work where I sit behind a desk and power down two or three travel mugs of hot coffee. Sure I motor between offices and work on a myriad of issues but all the time I am pounding most of a full pot of coffee into my bladder.

Everything is all good until about 11:00 am. At this time the laws of physics can no longer be ignored and I am suddenly, out of the blue... surprisingly... faced with the need of an URGENT trip way down the hall, to the other end of the building, to the only men's room on my floor. The door is always locked. I have to use a key to enter.

Have I ever told you about my office building? It was built back in the art deco days of the 1920s. It was erected as a shrine to the Masons and the old Masonic Lodge sits on the top (6th) floor. The basement is the old lodge dining hall and the door knobs all hold the ancient Masonic symbols. I am surrounded by Masons, and not one has asked me to join. Fuckers! The Masonic lease was made with the opening of the building and runs for 99 years. That lease is about to end. Yes, it is an old building.

A building that is lined with granite walls and marble floors. It is highlighted by massive crown molding and wrought iron. It is a manly building built at the height of American decadence by an old Oil Baron at the turn of the last century. It's pretty damn cool. But with old buildings there are a few problems.

The marble and granite halls are massive resonators to any office that has an open door. Staffing sessions and strategic planning meetings require a closed door or your discussions can be heard not just in the hallways, but on every floor. The other problem is the old locks and latches on the doors are faulty. So it takes a bit if finagling to get them open at times.

So, if you can imagine this middle aged fat boy with a bladder full of coffee shuffling down those marble halls, digging in my pockets for keys and fighting with the screwed up locks until I burst into the men's room and rush to the urinal. It is not until I notice I have released a loud blowing burst of air that I realize I have been holding my breath for an unknown amount of time in urgent anticipation of wetting my pants. As soon as I realize I am blasting out a deep, long held breath, I also ALWAYS seem to notice that the door leading to the men's room has not quite closed.

How many people in that freakin building hear this strange sound every day around 11:00 am? What's worse is the final release is so intense, so monumental at this point it takes all my will power to not follow the blast of held breath with a long drawn out moan of relief.

Every day these thoughts fall into place as I see that men's room door still hanging slightly open by the old pneumatic door closer. Every day I realize the pervy way I traveled down the hall with my short little arms stuck way down my deep pockets as I race for the men's room door. As I repaly the journey in my mind I also see in my minds eye one last vision... I am pretty sure I made a weird face. Yeah, I mean THE face.