Monday, May 22, 2006

Bonus Diet Accelerator: Salmonella!

One of the distinct disadvantages of working at my particular division of the company I'm at is that I have to share the floor -- and, thus, the bathroom -- with the staff of a third-rate 99-cent women's magazine of the variety that's sold on the checkout lane at Wal-Mart. I'm sure these are all aspiring Conde Nasties who haven't yet taken the requisite number of laxatives or barfed themselves down to a size two yet, but given the amount of time they spend in the bathroom, they're on their way. Now if only their story-generating abilities could be bolstered by sticking a finger down their throats...

Compounding matters, there are only four stalls on a floor where 98% of the employees are female. This is particularly frustrating to me because I have a hard time peeing when a stranger is sitting a mere 3 centimeters from me in the next stall, and the bathroom is busy absolutely every minute of the day. Sometimes there are even lines; I swear sometimes I wish that bathroom traffic director from Penn Station would relocate here. Usually I can get through the ordeal without bursting a kidney by plugging my ears, closing my eyes, and pretending I'm at home. But other times, it's more difficult -- and FORGET about doing anything else at work. My policy is just to chomp away at Immodium and steer clear of Indian buffet day in the cafeteria and hope my body understands that anything else will have to wait until I've left the building. (A completely random aside: I was having a conversation with a friend the other day and telling him I was going to babysit my niece, and I'd probably have to change diapers. A look of shock crossed his face and he said, "HOLY SHIT, it never occurred to me that GIRLS POOP THEIR PANTS when they're babies! I, I, just never thought about girls SHITTING themselves. That is so gross. What?! Sorry, I didn't have sisters!")

ANYWAY, back to my day at the bathroom/mosh pit. I have begun a new "reduction" phase in my life, amping up my workouts and scaling back my eating in an attempt to magically "melt away" over the next, oh, year or so, the TWELVE POUNDS I've managed to pack on in the last three months thanks to my daily consumption of hormone bullets. Grueling, rigorous workouts at insane hours of the morning at my gym haven't been doing the trick, so I knew it was time to bite the bullet: it was time to diet. I've never really dieted because I love food and I work out a ton, but since I don't have cash at the moment to purchase a whole new wardrobe of pants, I don't really have a choice.

So today for lunch, I trudged into the cafeteria and loaded up a take-out box with lettuce and tuna. Grudgingly I forced it down, happy at least in the knowledge that I was eating good fuel and I'd go to bed with a calorie deficit. It tasted gross, really gross, but hey, usually the only things that taste great are bad with regard to shrinking your ass.

Half an hour later, though, I discovered that the "gross taste" didn't simply come from all those nutrients. It came from...SALMONELLA! It felt like a velociraptor was ripping through my guts, and there was no way I could do what had to be done in front of the Conde wannabes who were undoubtedly online to floss and gloss and flush and powder. After all, they might think that I was an UNSUCCESSFUL bulemic -- one who gave barfing her all (because I was soon about to) but was STILL unable to shed those pesky pounds.

It simply wouldn't do. Then, a flash of inspiration struck! I remembered seeing a dingy little door off a back hallway to the cafeteria with a women's restroom sign. Salvation!

Mercifully, it was empty, and I now have a haven where I can pee in peace, or upchuck the remnants of a salmonella-ridden lunch without having to feel like I'm being judged or waited on. I'm only hoping none of the ladies on my floor discover this site....(shhhhh, don't tell).

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