Operation:Pig Mask didn’t achieve quite the level of trauma that I had strived for, and daydreamed about on my ride in yesterday.
At approximately 8:30PM, I spied Kim entering the women’s room, so I bolted back to my desk and grabbed my delightful mask. I opted to stand vigil directly on the other side of the door, so that as soon as she exited, we’d be nose to snout.
I heard the toilet flush and I adjusted the mask. I was having a very difficult time breathing in it and the sneaky anticipation had my pee threatening to escape in giggly droplets; I had to keep squatting.
I heard the water running as Kim washed her hands, and I heard the automatic paper towel dispensing as it churned out for her. I had to keep shifting from one foot to the other and my heart hurt from how difficult it was to breathe beneath all that heavy plastic.
It seemed to take forever before she finally pulled back the door and we locked eyes. She didn’t cry or scream or emit Turkish expletives like I had hoped, but she did take a giant step back and her facial muscles seemed taut with fear. Or maybe it was just confusion. After a few moments, her hand flew up to her chest and I took that as my signal to rip off the mask and it felt so good to have cool air hit my face. That mask is a real fucker.
We laughed for awhile, but it wasn’t climactic enough to make a scrap book for the grandkids, and eventually the laughter trickled down into amused intakes of air and we just went back to work.
Today, Kim acted faux-mad at me, but that charade was soon forgotten when I charred a bag of popcorn a little while ago and she became For Real-mad at me.