That quote is from one of my favorite Simpson’s episodes, where Lisa Simpson tries to learn how to tap dance.
I’m no stranger to tap. I've done my share of tapping. But something weird is afoot at my place of employment. It’s been going on for about three months now and I’ve decided to go public about it.
First off, I work on the top floor of an office building. The office is in the middle of no-where (not really, it just feels like it). There are actual fields of grass and lots of wooded areas close at hand. I work for a really large company. Near the main elevators and stairway is a small lobby. In that lobby are restrooms for both sexes. These are the large restrooms on the floor – centrally located. There are two other restrooms for men on the floor, but they are single stall units. The centrally located men’s room has two stalls. I like using the centrally located one because it is larger and the stall against the wall feels very private.
Maybe too private.
No one should Tap Dance in the workplace.
I’ve only worked on this floor for about six months. In the past three months I have been tapped at while in the stall over a dozen times by at least four individuals. Seriously tapped at. I absolutely know the identity of three of the tappers because (and this makes me question their intelligence) they wear their picture ID badge on their belts and when sitting on the toilet with their pants around their ankles it is easy to read their badges.
The first time it happened it was this really, really cute Jewish boy who has the most incredible ass I have seen in some time. Huge bubble butt, looks great in pants. I’ve admired it at a distance for quite some time now, but discreetly. I have never had an actual conversation with him. He is tall, in his late 20’s, in good shape and has curly reddish brown hair and freckles. He’s a football enthusiast for this one particular team, as his cube is filled with posters, banners and team-related crap. I’d do him in a heart beat, except he’s kind of a jerk – never saying hello or smiling when we pass in the hall. He was the first tapper. We played this tapping game for like twenty minutes. He had on a pair of very large brown loafers. They made my mouth water. I left first and hid around the corner to see who would come out and sure enough… it was my bubble butt boy. He’s tapped me twice since, but nothing ever happens. And that’s cool… BECAUSE WE’RE AT WORK AND NOTHING SHOULD HAPPEN.
One guy is this creative-type, a bike enthusiast. He’s about my age, bald, short and cute. He has a wife and three kids. He’s tapped me twice. He is sweet and yes, I’d do him. Only I won’t – BECAUSE WE’RE AT WORK AND NOTHING SHOULD HAPPEN.
Then there is this guy I don’t really care for too much. He’s a touch overweight, sweet, nice, articulate, a bit of a brown-noser (no, not in that way). When I first joined the company I had a one on one with him so I could learn about what he does. I pegged him for a married guy who sucks dick right away. It was only after he tapped his foot on three separate occasions that my suspicions were confirmed. He has a wife. She is sweet. I met her at our company holiday party. Nothing is going to happen there… ever. Because I’m not into him, in spite of the fact that I admire his footwear and BECAUSE WE’RE AT WORK AND NOTHING SHOULD HAPPEN.
The fourth guy remains unidentified.
Now when, on my way to the can, I see one of the above identified tappers on their way to the can, I detour and use a different can. No need to invite disaster… it has its way of finding me anyway.
There was a time in my life when understall action was a real turn on for me and a real part of my life. I was working downtown at the time. There were several public restrooms in various shopping facilities and hotels that were infamous for such activity. They were a constant source of amusement for me. I met so many people that way, people I still, on occasion, will run into. A few actually became friends. Briefly.
The scene taught me a lot about human nature and the types of people who partake in such activities. At the time, I guess I was obsessed. Obsessed enough to seek counseling which ended after three sessions. The third session, after describing a typical week’s activities, the counselor looked at me and said it sounded like fun and that I had nothing to worry about. And that was that. Why go back?
I no longer work downtown. Though I have revisited, as a tourist, a few of the hot spots from that time period, I’ve never returned to resume my residency. Mainly because it’s all changed. Cameras installed. Stall partitions lowered. Minneapolis: City of No Fun.
Leaving downtown broke the spell. On occasion I will check out a restroom. I still revel at naughty graffiti scrawled on a stall wall or the occasional evidence of ‘activity’. But my obsession has moved to the great outdoors. And now that seems to be getting old as well.
I have never come upon a true glory hole. The occasional peep hole, but never a true glory hole. So I have yet to experience the appeal of that stall wall feature. But I have done everything conceivably possible under the wall of a stall. I still know of two active restrooms. I just don’t visit them (often).
I have never, nor will I ever, tap dance with another at my place of residence. There are just way too many risks involved.
Besides, once you know who it is on the other side of the partition the romance is over – tap, tap.