Alone in the darkest of places
January 17th 2012 02:39
I pick up a copy of today’s newspaper and rise from my desk. I hesitate, then reach into my bag and grab my novel as well. With a slightly upset stomach, I may need plenty of reading material.
I snare an end cubicle and make myself comfortable. Comfortable is an appropriate word. The bathrooms in my office building have recently been renovated. They now feature glossy wall tiles and fittings, motion-sensor lighting and upmarket taps and soap dispensers. The ambience is more library than train station.
Things remain quiet and comfortable until the lights suddenly go out. I was in the middle of a report on Australia’s property market, now I’m in the dark. There are no windows in this bathroom. This is blackness of the inkiest kind.
I have never been in a situation like this. Habit, experience and preconceptions are of no use to me. For a moment, I’m completely in the dark about what to do.
After a few seconds my brain switches on and provides the information that it is the light motion sensor which has caused the situation. All I have to do, of course, is move, and it will detect the movement and turn the lights back on.
I lift my arms. I wave them about. I retrieve the newspaper from where I dropped it, raise it and wave that about.
Nothing happens.
I need something bigger. I grope around and find the door latch. I open the cubicle door, and close it, and open it, and close it.
Nothing happens.
I open the door, lean forward as far as I can and flap the newspaper energetically outside the cubicle.
Nothing happens.
I have no idea where the motion sensor is. Somewhere on the ceiling, I assume, but obviously not in range. Can it even see me in the dark? Perhaps it’s activated by someone opening the door to the outside world, that faraway place where there is light.
I’ll have to leave the cubicle.
I know what you’re thinking. There are logistical complications. How to put this? My trousers are around my ankles for a reason, and certain procedures must be undertaken and satisfactorily completed before an exit from the cubicle can be contemplated.
Dammit, why I have been alone in this bathroom for so long? These procedures can not be satisfactorily undertaken in the dark, can they?
I wait.
Nothing happens. Nobody comes.
I initiate procedures.
Strange thoughts go though my head. What if I walk out of the cubicle just as someone comes in, lights flickering on and me emerging from the gloom like a yeti from the far end of a cave? What will they think I have been doing alone, in the dark?
The thought becomes a fear. Get a grip, I tell myself, sternly, trying to wrest back control of the situation here, in the end cubicle, in the dark.
I pull my trousers up. I buckle my belt. I find my novel. I exit the cubicle.
After two uncertain steps, the lights flicker on. My eyes need a moment to adjust. I wash my hands, leave the bathroom and start walking back to my desk. A thought strikes me. Did I do my fly up?
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