Things Are Still OK

I'm a happy person. Really, I swear I am. Sometimes I feel the need to point this out, as most of the stories I tell are slightly depressing. I could write about having a badass picnic lunch in the park, but that just doesn't have the same bite as a tale about my brain dead cat, or the time I thought I was barfing earthworms in the shower.

It's rare that I actually get so bummed out that it significantly affects my life, and on the rare occasion that happens, it's not long before the universe sees fit to balance out my depression with something glorious and bizarre, reminding me that nothing's ever as bad as it seems.

I was in a funk recently, and I knew it was getting bad when even the homeless teens who hang out on the corner of my block started looking glamorous to me. Hell, their deathly cat looked like it was having a better time than I was.

Just when I was teetering on the edge of despair, a girl I know told me a story that suddenly put everything into perspective. Let's call her Regina.

Reeling from a difficult breakup, Regina had found herself at a bar, drinking alone on a Friday night, half a block away from her work.

Regina had been holding herself together in public, but this particular night apparently called for a bit of wallowing and self-medicating. At some point during the night, the memories got a little fuzzy, and upon leaving the bar, Regina remembered little else than having to pee. Knowing the state of most bar bathrooms, and being the dainty lady that she is, she opted to use her office bathroom instead.

And that's the last thing Regina remembered before the memories stopped for the night. Everything else was black.

Flash forward to the following Monday. Regina comes into work, and it's very clear somethingisn't right. Everyone in the building is confused and on edge, and there's talk of a disgruntled employee in the midst. Of course, Regina is as clueless as anyone. And then, suddenly, everything from Friday night comes flooding back.

Regina had peed, alright. Just not in a bathroom. She hadn't been able to find her key to the bathrooms, and in a frantic, drunken frenzy, she did the only thing she could think of. She peed in the giant water bottle her boss kept on her desk. She peed in it, and then she left it there.

Regina admitted it was her. I guess it was a noble thing to do. I can't imagine how awkward the rest of that day must have been.

Had it been me, I would have denied any knowledge of the incident. I've worked in offices before, and I know it's difficult to live these kinds of things down. When I was in high school, someone drew a giant penis on the soda machine in the break room (ok, ok, it was me) and it was months before people stopped talking about it.

Regina's boss laughed off the incident, but I think the memory of that pee bottle will haunt the office forever.

My thanks goes out to Regina and her permission to tell her story. It was just the thing I needed to remind me I should never take my own trials and tribulations too seriously.