I have never tried to hide the fact that I don’t like public washrooms. This issue is magnified by the reality that I have a hamster bladder and have to take a squirt approximately 81 times a day. I’m certainly not a urinal raconteur or a hand dryer conversationalist because I try to get in and out of the washroom as quickly as possible without notice so that I can lather up with Purell like some bacteriophobic criminal mastermind. I turn every trip to the washroom into a clandestine operation that hopefully goes undetected. Today however, I left evidence at the scene. I didn’t accidentally urinate on the seat, it was much worse.

Like any other 10:04am covert washroom run I was pleased when the washroom was empty. Apparently, my bladder is the only one in the office capable of lightning quick absorption. This morning I had gulped back a morning shake, a wake up coffee and my usual water quota so I was really full. I rushed to the washroom and in my haste to undo my pants I blew a button. That’s right, my pants button popped off and (in slow motion) rattled directly into my urinal like the last poker chip thrown into the pot. The problem was compounded again because I really had to go and didn’t have the time to change urinals by doing the outdoor “change of wind shuffle”. I pissed on my button. There was nothing that I could have done about it.

My office building has recently taken steps to reduce water usage and upgraded the urinal systems to go with a flushless system, thus saving 7 Olympic Pools of water a year. Whatever treehugger pitched this product to the building managers ensured that my pants button would be surrounded by porcelain, right next to the urinal puck until someone got it out. There were two options.

1) Leave the button there and hope that when anyone sees it they will immediately suspect someone that doesn’t have a 32 waist and weighs 165 pounds.

2) Try to forget about the quantity and varieties of urine that have slowly oozed down the drain and pray to all things holy that 15 sheets of paper towel provide both the protective qualities and still allow the dexterous movements required to pluck a button from a urinal.

I opted for Option 1. No one would suspect the skinny guy and I really did grab some paper towel but nearly gagged at the thought. I was certain that even though the 10:07am bathroom traffic would be minimal, I would get caught with my hand in the cookie jar so to speak. I washed my hands, triple checked my zipper, tightened my belt and nonchalantly made my way back to my desk.