How Your Mother Met Me

Another stupid memo.

But I suppose that's redundant: all memos here are stupid.

Idiot managers showering their "wisdom" down upon the lower creatures.

I'm Brenda, an editor for - well - for one of those faceless, large corporations. My job is to try to improve the prose issuing forth, which, of course, is a frustrating job. No, not a "fustrating job" as so many people would say, but frustrating - since my sterling efforts are never utilized, let alone appreciated. Yes, they let me improve the grammar and spelling, but their actual words and mental effluence are untouchable. Anointed. Locked in. Embarrassing me that they are released with my implied approval - since they have passed through my computer and on to the world.

But I turn my efforts to reading the latest delivery.

ATTENTION: Effective immediately, all restrooms at Cyranus Corporation will be transitioned to unisex usage. In order to improve efficiency, reduce gender inequities, and blah blah blah ...

Huh. I'd heard of this being tried in some places. I'd seen it on the TV show "Ally McBeal," but I never expected it to happen here. Somebody in the executive offices must have had too much time on their hands and decided to be "progressive" since they certainly couldn't waste their giant mentalities on actually running a company.

Reading further, one restroom had already been converted - having the necessary privacy barriers erected - and was declared open immediately.

Except that it was the Executive washroom which was off limits to everybody who wasn't on the Executive floor - which couldn't be accessed except by special security-access card.

And we didn't have any female executives (imagine that!) so this was probably their way of responding to lawsuits demanding equal access on the Executive floor - without having to build a new restroom or split the existing one. Never mind that there were plenty of female Administrative Assistants and service personnel who had to work on that floor. They were now "taken care of".

OK. So not something I'd have to really think about for now.

Except that I then noticed the attached note: "Brenda, this important Affirmative Action - action - should be highlited in our company newsletter. We think that a woman - like you - should right a story about it and issue it in the next - issue. Bob."

Well. At least it was clear that my job as an editor was not in any danger of being superfluous - with that level of sterling prose issuing from the great minds of the Executive Floor.

I sighed. Collected my notepad and camera, and buzzed Shirley - an Admin on the Executive floor - to come escort me to my exciting investigative assignment.

We talked as the elevator climbed from my usual level - up - up - up - to the lofty top floor. Shirley told me that a Board meeting was in progress so all of the top "talent" was present, but not to worry, they were busily enthroned in the Board Room and never emerged during a meeting. I thanked her as she pointed to the newly unisex potty place. Oh. Joy.

I snapped a shot or two of the door itself (you never know WHAT you will use in an article), then stepped in, surveyed the unisex set up and snapped a few more photos - trying to capture SOMETHING which would actually help an article.

Actually, it was slightly interesting to see what changes had been made to retain privacy in the necessary situations - and leave the sinks and common area open to all.

As I was forming that thought, the lights went out.

I mean out.

We're talking about "inside an inside room in a tall building - with NO light on - so when I say dark, I mean D-A-R-K!"

Before I could say the "WTF" that came to my mind, I heard gunshots outside the restroom. Machine-gun fire - and yelling: "This is a kidnapping! We are now in control of this building! If you do not want to die, then do exactly as we say and move to the Board Room! DO IT! NOW!"

My heart was pounding and my breath - and knees - failed me. I didn't mean to disobey, but I just crumpled to the floor and found myself crawling along the tile in the direction I'd been facing - the restroom stalls.

And bumped into someone crawling the other way!

"Hello?" I whispered - trying to not make any noise that would attract attention from outside the door.

"Hello - back," whispered the other person. "I'm Terry. I'm in maintenance. I was cleaning the back stall. Look... the kidnappers may not know we're here. Let's just crawl back to the back, stay quiet, and see what happens."

"O... Okay," I whispered back. "I'm Brenda - from downstairs. I'm an editor."

It was still totally dark - and I'd left my phone at my desk - so I couldn't use it as a flashlight or call 911 - so we fumbled our way - as quickly as we could - back to the last stall. As usual, it was the extra-large "disabled" stall, so there was plenty of space - and we crawled in and left the door unlocked so it wouldn't look like anybody was in it - if anybody looked.

Terry whispered, "We should get our feet off the floor in case anybody does a quick scan," so I climbed up on the toilet and Terry seemed to perch on the sink.

"What now?" I asked.

"Well, we wait and see what happens."

We could hear muffled sounds outside the restroom.

The door was kicked open and a flashlight slowly shone - scanning around the room - and right under our feet.

"Nobody here" - and the door closed again.

So we sat. And waited. Trying not to even breathe too loudly.

The darkness closed around us.

I just needed to talk. To share something with another human. So we began to whisper back and forth - talking about our jobs. The company. What we thought might be happening.

Finally I whispered, "Shouldn't we make some kind of a plan? As long as we're just sitting here? I didn't bring my phone so I can't call anybody."

"They don't give me a phone, either," said Terry. "I dunno... what else CAN we do?"

"Hmmm... lemme think. You said you were cleaning? Hmmmm..." I searched the filing cabinet of my mind. Since it was my job to clean up pretty-much every document for the company, I'd read pretty-much every publication. Hmmm... Cleaning. Cleaning supplies. And I'd watched MacGyver a lot when I was alone (as always) at home. Hmmm... I began to remember a Safety memo I'd reviewed a few months back - about a particular cleaning agent that was made by our esteemed company - which turned out to have been manufactured with faulty components.

"Hey, Terry," I whispered through the darkness, "Can you get to any of the Sparkil-Kleen our company made? There was a recall on it recently."

"Ummm... yeah, there's a whole 5-gallon drum of it in the supply closet right here in the restroom. I use it all the time. There was a recall on it? I never heard that! Nobody ever reads all of those memos that are sent out. I mean NOBODY has the time to read those things!"

"Well, it turns out that if we mix the Sparkil-Kleen with 2 other cleaning agents - and - well - add some urine - it produces a gas that will knock you unconscious without killing you."

"How would we keep from knocking us out?" asked Terry.

"Well. We could just shove the mix out the door and close the door tight. Maybe seal the crack under the door with - something."

"That sounds dangerous and maybe stupid" whispered Terry - just before more machine-gun fire thudded to our ears, "but, OK, we have to do SOMETHING. Hey, there's also a wheeled cart in the supply closet. Maybe we can put the mix on the cart and shove it hard enough to get it to roll the 20 feet to the Board room."

"OK, then, stay close and lets get to the closet."

We slid down to the floor from our perches, and touched shoulders so we could stay together as we crawled. Terry unlocked the door to the closet and fumbled for the right ingredients - and the cart.

"Ummm... I'd better start drinking a lot of water", I whispered, embarrassed. "What are we going to seal the bottom of the door - with?"

"We could use my pants. They're probably long enough to cover the opening," offered Terry.

Terry very-carefully worked on mixing the 3 cleaning ingredients - in the dark - while I found a sink and began gulping water. It was slow work and the time ticked on. Periodically we continued to hear shouts and gunfire so we knew that the kidnapping was still active.

Finally, I whispered, "Hey, Terry, I... ummm... I think I'm ready for the final ... ingredient. Do you have an empty container I can - uhh... deposit it in?"

A small plastic bucket was gently thrust into my hands and my face glowed red in the darkness - even though neither of us could see anything - as I pulled up the hem of my skirt and slid my panties off - discarding them on the floor. I carefully positioned myself - and waited. And waited.

Terry squeezed my hand as if to say "Just relax" - and I did. And I filled the bucket.

Mortified, but relieved to be successful, I squeezed Terry's hand back and whispered, "OK, we're ready."

We crawled to the door, Terry carefully pushing the main ingredient bucket on the cart, me sliding my very-personal contribution across the tiled floor - until we were right at the door.

The reality of what was happening then hit us. Hands-and-knees in the dark - in a restroom with armed criminals somewhere outside the door, the strong odors of - the 4 ingredients - assaulting our noses, about to do something which would ultimately be very heroic - or very very stupid.

I heard the rustle of Terry's pants being removed, then felt the cloth against my hand.

We were positioned. Terry ready to open the door and roll the cart out, me ready to dump my bucket into the big one, carefully shove the cart, then slam the door and hold it tight while Terry blocked the bottom with the pants.

"OK..." I whispered, "On 3."

I could barely breathe. My mind was racing and my heart was pounding even faster.

"1." "2." "THREE!"

Door.

Almost blinded by the sudden light.

Cart.

Little bucket.

SHOVE!

Slam. Hold.

Pants.

Scramble in the dark - blinded - back to the back stall.

And wait.

Clinging to each other in the darkness.

Wondering just how stupid we'd been.

Waiting - wondering how long it would take.

Listening to sounds of running and shouting, then thuds sounding like bodies dropping on the floor.

Listening to ourselves breathe.

Listening to the thumping of our own hearts - and each others'.

Then total quiet - except for our own breathing and hearts thumping.

Total quiet.

Maybe it worked.

"Should we go check?" I timidly suggested.

"Yeah, time to find out if we're heroes - or idiots."

"Wait, we should have some kind of gas masks. Here, let's soak our shirts in water and hold them over our faces. Hold your breath!"

Then I cracked the door open.

All was quiet.

Mostly-blinded again by the sudden light, we cautiously poked our heads out and eventually confirmed that everyone on the Executive floor - was out cold. The gas had worked.

Things were kind of a blur after that, but we signaled the FBI / Police / whoever it was who appeared once we made it known that the criminals were disabled, and "the authorities" quickly zip-tied the perpetrators and began the process of clearing the mess.

*****

"And that," I said as I took a sip from my wine glass, looked out over our swimming pool - to the moon shining over the ocean beyond, and took my wife Terry's hand, "is how your mother met me. We were quite the sight - her in nothing but her bra and panties and me in nothing but my skirt and bra - foilers of International Kidnappers. Heroes to Cyranus Corporation.

Now, off to bed with you!"

Our children hugged us goodnight and grudgingly headed off to their bedrooms.

Before Terry followed them to tuck them in, she turned to me and asked, "Should we ever tell them about the password I found in the Boardroom - that let us unlock the slush fund used for buying Senators - that we drained to buy this place and set up our 'retirement fund'?"

"Nah...," I said, kissing her playfully, "Some things need to be just our little secret."