Idiosyncrasy #3.....

I wrote a couple of weeks ago about two of my idiosyncrasies. In the interest of continuing my never-ending quest to convince you that I have severe issues, I continue that theme tonight.

I have this thing ... it's not a phobia, exactly, just a thing ... about knocking on bathroom doors. I don't like to do it. That's one reason I like the porta-potties we have on organized bicycle rides. If the person inside DOES IT CORRECTLY, in the locked position the door gives an indication on the outside that the porta-potty is occupied. (Not "occupied" as in the "occupiers," but wouldn't that put an interesting twist on their campaign?)

If I am forced to knock on the bathroom door and it's occupied, what is the correct response for the person inside?


"Come in?" I don't think so.

"Be right out!" Awkward.

"Who is it?" Someone who needs to use the restroom. If it's me, that person has waited until the situation is dire.

Oddly enough, if I have to knock on a bathroom door and someone answers, I am embarrassed almost beyond words. Why is that? I have done nothing wrong, and there is certainly no shame in the very human need to use the restroom facilities. But in those cases I'm so embarrassed that I retreat and am long gone by the time the person in the restroom emerges.

The ONE bathroom for faculty use (other than the ones in the office, which are in rather ... close proximity ... to the goings-on in the office) is located on the main hall, sharing a room with all the computer servers. The sign on the door says "Lounge," but there is nary a couch, table, nor chair in sight. The room is so small it would be hard pressed to hold two people at the same time. The bathroom itself is even smaller. I would venture to say it would be almost impossible to change clothes in there.

There are two doors, one to the actual bathroom itself, and one to the "Lounge." This one has a window in it, and I have developed the habit of looking in the window to see if the bathroom is occupied. One day last week I must have made six trips down the hall, peering through the window and saying some version of, "Damn it!" when it appeared to be occupied every single time.

Finally, in considerable pain and consternation (not that other con_______ation), I was forced to knock on the door. I was ready to run if anyone answered.

The bathroom was empty, just as it had probably been on at least four of the earlier occasions.

So I made this sign for the door:

(Who DOES that at school, anyway? That's an entirely separate blog topic, one that I will more than likely never write.)

So far it has worked beautifully.

P.S. I'm going to have to come up with a better term than the one that starts with "idio..." I'm not ashamed of it, but I can't SPELL it!

One (or Two) of My Many Idiosyncracies.....

If I thought about it long enough, I could probably devote an entire blog to my many idiosyncrasies. (Is it any accident that word almost has the word "crazy" embedded in it?) I'm not talking about my sometime-OCD tendencies, but instead relatively minor things about my personality that I generally keep to myself. I promise I won't bombard you with all of them at one time.

One that came to light recently resulted in one of the few times I've seen Hubby speechless. I wanted some hot apple cider (the instant kind, the only kind we have), so I got out a small boiler and prepared to heat the water on the stovetop.

"Why don't you put it in the microwave?" Hubby asked. "It's faster that way."

Before I could stop the words from leaving my mouth, I said, "I don't like it that kind of hot."

Not THAT HOT. That KIND of hot. I couldn't even articulate what I meant. For some reason I prefer to boil the water on the stovetop for instant drinks like hot chocolate and apple cider. Don't ask me why. Please. Even stranger, when I'm at school and that's my only option, I quite readily use the microwave to heat my water. And it's fine.

I'm kind of sorry I'm burdening you with this.

Another idiosyncrasy involves those reusable grocery bags. I started buying them several years ago and have almost reached the point of always having them in the car when I go grocery shopping. I try to return them to the car as soon as I unload groceries so I will know they are ready for the next shopping expedition.

Because I used my four-day weekend for mundane things like bike rides and gymnastics meets and did NOT use any of the four days to do the weekly grocery shopping, I had to stop on the way home from school today. There aren't many things I hate more than having to stop at the grocery store on the way home. Come to think of it, I don't like to stop ANYWHERE on the way home.

When I got to the store, I reached in the back seat for my cloth grocery bags. There were three of them there, and they all said "Ingle's." I was not at Ingle's. I was at Publix. And I refused to use the bags with the wrong store name on them. Hubby says they would be tickled to think they had stolen a customer away and I shouldn't worry about it, but I can't bring myself to use the wrong bags.

I'm willing to save the planet and all, but it better be prepared to be brand-specific.

I'll shut up now.