Don't Inhale.

There is a war going on in my office, and the insurgents are winning. Actually, to be fair I think I'm the insurgent at this point. It started innocently enough, in the ladies bathroom.

Despite there being only three men amongst 25 women in our department, both sexes have just one stall. Because we have no sink in our kitchen, any dishes get done in the ladies washroom. That's really not the point to this story, but it's disgusting and I wanted to point that out.

Until three weeks ago, our washroom containing one stall, one sink, one window and a stack of dishes was as civilized as could be expected.

My biggest complaint used to be the ladies who would charge the hallway door to the washroom, while the occupant tried to take care of business behind a stall door. The outside door has a flimsy lock, allowing some modicum of privacy.

Pressing a hand gently on the door leading from the hallway into the washroom is enough to indicate whether the bathroom stall inside is occupied, without busting the lock. But this doesn't work for most of my colleagues. Instead, these women throw their body weight at the door, shoulder first like they're serving a drug warrant.

This causes the door to bang, pop and shudder, and the flimsy lock to clank in protest. And if I'm the occupant in the bathroom stall the sudden assault on my position also causes my bladder to seize and retreat somewhere behind my ribcage, mid-stream.

This was an annoyance, but I could manage with some simple Keigal exercises and self-hypnosis meant to get me peeing again. Now I have a whole new problem with the ladies washroom.

There used to be a spray-can of deodorizer atop the toilet tank. The spray smelled like oranges, and all was right with the world. Sometimes, with the bathroom window open and a little squirt of that spray, I would walk into that godforsaken little space and actually want to inhale. It was good times.

Then an email was sent out to the department. Apparently, one person had a negative reaction every time she went into the washroom and she would cough. It was decided by the powers that be that the spray would be removed. This was no small undertaking.

Before the email went out alerting us to the dangers of the spray, facilities and maintenance were called. Two burly looking men came to our washroom and did a site inspection. The only possible source for the cough was determined to be the orange blossom spray, and action was swift.

A follow-up email was sent out to the department. Should the need arise to mask any unpleasant odours, the person with the cough thoughtfully provided a book of matches that would sit atop the toilet in times of need.

By this point I had already began taking two flights of stairs in order to reach another washroom. I'm quite fond of my newly adopted bathroom. I prefer the very end stall, and if I pee at noon the sun will have been shining through a skylight and the toilet seat is cozy, warm and welcoming, unlike the washroom upstairs.

The burly men of facilities and maintenance were called out a second time. Apparently, a complaint was filed stating the washroom smelled like sulphur and there was a concern for safety. I shit you not...er...you know what I mean.

A serious discussion took place to ascertain why there were matches in the bathroom, and why someone would light one in the middle of the day. Could somebody be sneaking cigarettes in the bathroom? I almost felt sorry for the office manager as she tried valiantly to explain the alternative reason for having matches in a ladies washroom.

To make matters worse, the original complainant still has a slight cough. Another email was sent to the department, informing us that all hand soap, dish soap, paper towels and lotion had been removed from the ladies washroom until the exact source of the cough had been located and eradicated.

Facilities and maintenance followed-up up with a warning about keeping the window in the washroom open, as there are alder trees outside that can cause allergies. Another email made the rounds informing us that the window would be closed going forward, in an effort to alleviate possible allergy symptoms.

And the office hypochondriac coughs on. She hasn't had this much attention since...well...ever. Never mind getting her a throat lozenge -- plans are already underway for all female employees to be issued a small shovel and some newspaper. We're all going to be digging holes in the woods, as long as we watch out for the alder trees.