Tag Archives: bathroom

Curse of the Weak Bladder

I get up early. Really early.

It’s probably not as early as some, but I do live and hour from the newspaper and am officially the morning-shift reporter. By that, I mean this week is the start of me being the absolute first one into the news room.

Still confused? I turn on the lights. I start the coffee. I get up early.

I’m not complaining, I promise. If I had the choice of choosing any shift this is the shift I would pick — you get to go home sooner.

Since I’ve started early mornings several months ago I’ve gotten into a weird drinking habit.

Most mornings, I would stop by What-a-Burger and order a potato taquito and a Diet Coke (light ice so you get more soda). Then I started gaining weight and decided that perhaps taquito eating wasn’t the best idea.

So now I get up, grab a granola bar and chug a glass of ice water on my commute to work.

Once I get in the office I immediately go to the coffee. I’m not big into caffeine, but that hot drink and a little bit of flavor does wonders for a tired person like myself.

By 9 a.m., however, I’m craving something stronger so I scrounge in my purse or break away from the newsroom and get my Diet Coke.

Hint: A large Diet Coke at What-a-Burger lasts the entire day. Also, at select Sonics, sodas are only 99 cents for any size and the larges also will last you an entire work day.

The thing is, with all this drinking I am going to the restroom a lot more than usual, which was already a lot.

I have a small bladder, so sue me. But now I’m feeling like a terrible worker.

Do people judge you if they see you going to the ladies room once an hour?

Maybe it’s just me, but every time I pull my chair out to take a trip to the loo I feel my boss’ eyes on me and her face reads like, Where is she going, again? No one goes to the bathroom that much. She must be texting or calling someone and using up company time.

The curse of the weak bladder.

Oh, The Days of Our Lives

This morning I was asked how I was and I found myself spouting off the cliché phrase, I’m good – it’s hump day!

Then my co-worked made a comment that made me think. “Doesn’t it seem like we waste our lives away getting ready for the day to end?”

She’s right.

I thought back on my past two years and realized that the week couldn’t go by fast enough. My typical response to talking with anyone, co-worker or not, deals with what day of the week it is.

“How are you,” one will ask.

“Ehh, it’s Monday,” my typical reply. “Let’s just get through the week.”

“How are you,” later in the week.

“Great! It’s Friday,” I say happy the week is over.

Is this what I’ve become? A working person who focuses on finishing the week rather than appreciating every moment God gives me. How sad is that?

I’m going to challenge myself to stop looking forward to the next day and to look at what’s happening around me. I may get overwhelmed, cry in bathroom stalls or question everything I’m doing at the exact moment, but it’s mine.

This is my world I’ve been blessed to be in. And while some days seem to bring more bad than good, there’s always something that I can look at and know I’m loved, I’m blessed and I’m doing things that few people get the opportunity to do.

So I will also challenge you if you find yourself in the same cycle of hating the week, wishing the weekend weren’t over and starting all over again the next week.

Let’s live it up. Go visit a monkey display (check for today), talk with a wacko (double check for today) or just laugh with a co-worker or friend (luckily, check for everyday!).

I Cried in the Bathroom Stall Today

I’m frustrated, angry and so close to blowing up that it isn’t even funny.

I live in the State of Florida which means I have to deal with heat, humidity, hurricanes, tourist, snowbirds and the list goes on and on. This great state, however, has its advantages too.

Florida Sunshine Law is amazing. Public record is open, its available and it’s the law… on most days.

There was a murder, which always makes the Sheriff’s Office a little more cautious when dealing with the media. Then there were two separate counties involved, one more rural than the other extremely rural, “small town-ish” county.

Which in summary means, I had a lot going against me when my editor put me on my mission of getting information, any information.

Now the fact that I wanted to just get something should sound easy enough – that’s what I thought.

Here was my plan:

Step 1: Call the Sheriff’s Office

Step 2: Get the arrest report

Step 3: Write an 8 inch story and be done

… I wish.

After two hours, over a dozen calls and several chats with my editor I got in touch with the one man that every other person said I needed to talk to.

Side note, I’m persistent. I may not be the most eloquent writer and I may not be able to smooth talk or bully my way into getting what I need, but dag-nab-it, I’m persistent.

So I finally got in touch with Capt. Harry Hamilton, how small town does that sound?

Then he went in circles, evading my questions and refusing to give me any documentation on the man wanted for murder, but being held in his jail on dealing in stolen goods.

After explaining law, that it was public record and that he could even redact the witness names that he was incredibly concerned about he still refused. Then when I flat-out said I want this and you have to give it to me I was told I would have to fill out a public records request form.

How absurd.

I have never filled out a public records request. I deal with three counties, multiple Sheriff’s Offices and police departments, on a daily basis. Can you feel my frustration?

I went on to explain this and he went on to say I would need to request it formerly.

Then I called the local (there’s where the problem lies) State Attorney’s Office. I got so far as saying my name and where I work then that devil of a secretary was a brick wall.

When she told me before I even got a question in that I would not be able to know anything my anger and annoying persistent personality kicked into high gear.

“Well, I’d like to ask you just one question before you tell me no if that’s alright.”

Then when I was done she said no, to be expected – fine, whatever.

“Can I please be connected to a voice mail or talk with another supervisor for comment?”

“Ma’am, you are being very persistent,” devil woman replied. “No one is going to give you a comment like I’ve already told you.”

“I realize that – it’s my job to be persistent and talk even if I have to write the State’s Attorneys Office could not give a comment,” I said.

“Well you cannot speak to them and they won’t be giving a comment,” she haughtily said. “And I think you need to stop asking questions…”

The rest was rude words and I interrupted, said thank you I’ll call again tomorrow and hung up as she started telling me not to even try.

Please understand, I’m tired and being denied for three hours straight is incredibly exhausting.

When that last call was complete and I realized all my work was completely useless the tears began to well up. What a baby.

I left my desk, went into a bathroom stall and wiped my pathetic tears away.

Then, back in the newsroom, proceeded to write my public record: Try and deny me, I dare you.

Three hours later, I got a fax with all the records I requested.