I'm researching again. I'm drowning out the sound of people tapping keyboards and arranging company parties around me. It's hard to ignore the woman just three feet away arguing over the price of table settings and the martini mashed potato bar; to ignore the gentleman behind me that dresses like a stockbroker and spins in his chair anytime he hangs up the phone as if he's just closed a monumental deal. Loves Power Point. Loves Excel even more. But I press on, ignoring it all for the sake of my well being. My health. Web MD has nothing about it. Wikipedia is useless as well. I refuse to call my doctor. Refuse to talk to my friends. What would I say? What would I ask? How does one inquire about how long you can hold your bladder from being relieved before it explodes and you die in soiled pants at your cubicle? There must be a limit. A weight to time ratio out there but the Internet is giving me nothing.

When I was young I was told that I should always go pee before I got out on the soccer field because if I got kicked in the bladder it would explode and I'd die on the spot. Imagine that, my poor ten year old self, dead in a white reversible AYSO jersey at midfield, just weeks after winning MVP of the Chiquita Banana Soccer Camp. Such a tragedy.

So I sit without moving. Any quick jolts to the body could easily result in my death and the death of my dream of dying while base-jumping to save an Arabian princess. I think back to when I peed my pants in the 4 th grade because I feared the wrath of Ms. Rhodes. She had insisted that all bathroom breaks be taken before we got in her classroom. With most teachers I thought nothing of it but this was a woman who pickled road kill and brought it in to show the class. Some were rodents stuffed into small mason jars like those my mom used to put homemade jelly and chili sauce in while others were huge economy size jars for giant pickles that now held twisted cats she found at the end of her driveway. I was ten and anatomy was not yet a part of the curriculum, most us were still trying to figure out what our penis' purpose was. But even at such a young age I instinctually feared a recent divorcee obsessed with the idea of slaughtered animals as replacements for classroom gerbils.

But what is there to fear now? There are no insane teachers to scold, no flying cleated feet to explode. Nothing of that sort at all, but something much worse. Something far more terrifying than rabid animals doused in rubbing alcohol and maniac kids bent on kicking whatever they come in contact with as hard as humanly possible. And that something is an office hallway.

I've sadly been in the professional workforce long enough to have experienced a handful of different corporate environments and all of them share at least one terrible commonality-- long unbroken hallways. Each one surrounded by fields of cubicles and adjacent offices, and the bathroom is always at one end and I'm magically always at the other.

To some this wouldn't even be worth mentioning; would be the last thing they talked about to their spouses or friends when asked, "How's work?" But for me it's as important to remark upon as my boss' creative facial hair and equally creative hairline--the top of the list. Let me explain.

You see, at the end of this particular hallway is the office of a woman that insists on saying, "hello" to me every time I pass. Her door is nearly always open so I must try and avoid eye contact at all costs. Not so long ago this wasn't an issue. Things were great and I never thought twice about passing her office because we had no idea who each other was, but that all got thrown down the drain after a project I had to help her on. Now of course, we're obligatory office friends. Thankfully she's slightly attractive in a not so pretty but kind of sexy Jewish way and she sits on a large workout ball rather than a chair, which had been the subject of much fantasy. Upon innuendo heavy questioning she told me it was to help her keep better posture, but I immediately took it to mean, anytime you want me riding your hard cock on this, feel free to suck on my tits as a sign . But I'm a loyal boyfriend and my cheating goes no further than absurd scenarios so I moved on, never chancing such a suckling.

To continue, I don't try to avoid saying, "hello" for fear of not being able to hold back the urge to take her up on the hypothetical bouncing fuck offer, but avoid instead because I just hate having to say such a pointless greeting. Theoretically, I have no problem with saying, "hello" to people, I'd prefer not to and would rather go along my merry way as if no one was around, but I don't have any actual problem with it so to speak. My real problem is the amount of, "hello's" one must endure in an office environment where I'm not actually friends with any of these people. They're strangers at worst, and colleagues at best, but even that doesn't fit because colleagues reinforces the idea that we're all comrades in some way, that we're all in it together, which is farthest from the truth.

In truth, I know they exist and that's about it. I simply happen to know that this group of people are living humans and not say, dead cats in pickle jars. I'm able to make that distinction. However with such long hallways one must act as if this isn't true. As if we're real acquaintances, or worse yet, friends, everyone unwilling to acknowledge we care not about one another's personal lives or otherwise.

Aside from the bouncy ball woman there are also the many others that I have to pass along the way. All of whom I make every effort to avoid by way of many introverted, possibly neurotic, methods.

The cell phone, for instance, has been a godsend and not because of its ability to connect people for if anything I use it to disconnect from people. When I see a colleague heading in my direction I pretend I'm answering a phone call, then continue to have a fake conversation as we approach and pass. I logically can't say, "hello" or nod for I'm quite busy with something else. The cell phone conversation continues long enough that they not only have a beginning and middle but a clear end as well. I literally say, "goodbye" to no one and hang up just in case someone happens to be watching my every move, thinking, Is he really on his phone or is he just using it so he doesn't have to acknowledge the fact that other people exist.   I've faked movies I've seen, concerts I've been to, restaurants I've eaten at, and even a trip to Iceland, which bit me in the ass because one such Icelandic adventurer overheard me and I was forced into a long conversation about our comparative Iceland experiences. If it hadn't been for the brief period during my sophomore year in college when I was obsessed with Bjork I would've been found out. Thanks Bjork, you crazy bitch.

But I've learned my lesson and all my fake phone conversations are now relegated to when I'm going to pick someone up at the airport. Though I'm playing with fire again it seems since I own no car to make such an event even slightly plausible. Who needs extreme sports to get a rush? Just live a lie at work and you'll have all the rush you need.

Prior to the cell phone age I wore a watch that I checked a hundred times a day to avoid people passing, but as if to foreshadow the Icelandic incident, I had to stop this scheme when I was asked the time after I obviously just checked my watch and hadn't a clue what time it was. I'm terrible at telling time so my answer took quite long and though I could've just switched to a digital watch afterwards, I was in college and funds were too tight to be throwing money away on a neurosis that pulled the hair from my wrist.

The worst instances of going to the bathroom are those that occur when I begin to walk to the bathroom, or back to my desk for that matter, and when turning into the hallway the guy that acts like a character from Boiler Room is heading my way. On these occasions my mind races because of the amount of time we have to acknowledge that at some point when we get closer we'll both have to say, "hello" but not until that time comes. In these unfortunate situations I've caught myself doing some of the following:

1. I've acted like I forgot something by patting the exterior of my pants' pockets followed by looking up as if in remembrance while simultaneously mouthing words, "shit, I forgot my keys," as if I work with a slew of lip readers. Then I proceed to go back to my desk avoiding the whole situation till later.

2. I bend over in a three point stance as if I'm a defensive tackle and wait for the person opposite of me to get close. Then I playfully charge at them as if they're an opposing player on the field. We both laugh a tad because that's what friends do. Work can be fun too don't you remember?

3. I exaggerate a huge wave from afar, sometimes saying the words, "ahoy there" feigning a sailor accent, whatever that accent might be, and then nod with more actually genuine (actually) laughter as we pass.

Common in all of these instances is the post action feeling of complete and utter failure at life. Not to be mistaken with self-loathing, which occurs sometime afterward.

To combat all this I resorted to taking a flight of stairs at my end of the hallway and went to the second floor to pee. Up there I knew nobody and could easily avoid eye contact by doing any number of the more simpler tricks of the trade: faking a cough, a sore throat, a stiff neck, a skin condition, a pulled calf, fake cracking my knuckles, squinting as if to see something way passed the person approaching, yawning, scratching my eyes to catch phantom eyelashes, and the cu de gra -- once while eating an orange, a group of people surprised me as they came out of an office and unknowingly I acted as if orange juice squirted me in my eye. To this day I don't know how I would react if that had actually happened, but at that moment it seemed flawless, proving that my actions are instinctual and I have no control over my own body when encountered by simple social situations.

After some time the second floor ended up failing on me because of a slight run in with HR whose offices are on that floor making it impossible to safely navigate. So I set forth to the 3 rd floor. However, even the 3 rd floor, which was perfect for sometime, failed me when another project had me working with a young Latino guy who talked enthusiastically about his burgeoning underground DJ career, and who's desk was at the top of the stairs. So I abandoned hope there as well.

My researching has come to an unsuccessful end and I can no longer grab at my penis like a toddler trying to thwart pissing himself or I risk another trip to H.R. So I get up and walk calmly down the hallway. I take in the whole scene; which office doors are closed and which cubicles are empty. As I walk I resolve to research nurse forums when I get back regarding the possibility of daily catheters.

I'm almost home free when out of nowhere I'm jolted awake by the slamming of a door. I look up and turning to face me is a tall brunette woman whose rotund ass cries for air in her brown dress slacks.   She must have just moved into the office for I was aware of every obstacle along the route. She clears her throat as she's about to pass and I can see the makings of an office smile attack the dry corners of her mouth when all of a sudden I drop to the ground without a second thought and she passes me by without a word.

It seems I'd forgotten to tie my shoe.

© 2007 Tyke Johnson