Bathroom Revelations

"G'night." I say to one of the girls in publicity as I walk past their cubicles. We're releasing the last 'Lord of the Rings' this week, so they've been pulling a lot of all-nighters. My tenure on the movie was done a couple of weeks ago ~ just had to finalize some of the wording on the contracts before signing off on delivery of the legal materials.

I hate distribution...

Well, I don't "hate it", hate it. It's just not exactly what I want to be doing. It's not my ideal job. And the pay is shit.

The people are alright though...and the parties aren't bad either.

I've already been here longer than I want to...

I'm starting to get that same feeling again; like the one I had in fourth year University -- that I'm suffocating. I can't breathe in this job. It's not for me. The knots that are accumulating in between my shoulder blades make it almost impossible for me to sit at my desk. I'm jittery. And the people in my immediate division depress the shit out of me.

I'm not suppose to be here...

I walk into the bathroom to splash some water on my face before I head out into the cool dark night of winter. For some reason I head towards the sink with the drippy faucet. I turn on the water, cup it in both of my hands, and splash my face. I do this a couple of times. The ice cold water numbs my cheeks and makes me feel relaxed. I look up. Underneath the fluorescent light I take a long hard look at myself in the mirror above the sink. The water slides down my forehead and collects in the crevice of my eye socket before gravity takes its toll; and the water travels towards the bridge of my nose.

Drip. Drip.

The water drips unevenly from the tap. I look down at it and try to tighten the handle, but it doesn't work. I turn on the water again, hoping it will flush out whatever might be remaining in the faucet -- and then tighten it again.

There. Better.

I look at myself again, the water drips off the tip of my nose and onto the collar of my shirt.

How did I get here?

The toilet flushes and a colleague of mine comes out from the stall. She's one of the people I get along with.

"You going to the release party tonight?" she asks and turns on the tap. I reach for a paper towel to pat my face dry.

"Nah, I went to one a couple days ago...I think I'm gonna pass." I say.

She looks at me while she washes her hands and says, "You sure?"

I nod and fake a smile. The tears are beginning to well a little in the bottom of my eyes. I don't want her to be nice to me, because I want to not like it here. It will make it easier to leave.

"What's wrong?" she says, and a tear falls. I run into the stall and grab some tissue before coming back out.

"I think..." I start, but then look at her to make sure she wasn't just being polite. She looks genuinely concerned and even tells me that it's alright to tell her, so I continue. "I think...I think I hate it here." I say. Suddenly I can breathe a little better.

"Yeah," she laughs, "Your job sucks. If it makes you feel any better, I hate it here too. Just between you and me, I'm actually resigning and going to move to New Zealand. Made some good friends with the Post people on Lord of the Rings and one of them offered me a job...so I'm taking it." She then puts her index finger to her mouth and gestures for me to not say anything.

"I'm very jealous...and happy for you. New Zealand looks gorgeous." I say.

"So, what do you want to do if you don't want to be here?" she asks.

"Well," I say, "The whole reason I got into this industry was to maybe have my own production company one day -- you know, make my own shows."

She nods. I know she's actually interested.

"But, I needed to pay the bills -- so I took this stupid job and between you and me; I have nothing in common with the people in my area. They drain me. I can feel my life seeping out from me every time I walk in there." I say.

Am I being to harsh? Maybe I have PMS?

My colleague nods and says, "The people in your area SUH-UCK. I hate them too and would stick a letter opener through my eyes every morning if I had to sit there. You're a trooper. I don't know anyone who would want to sit with all the data entry geeks."

She's right. I report to the same psycho-bitch that the data entry geeks report to; so I'm stuck sitting with them. And the psycho-bitch wasn't always a psycho-bitch. She was so nice in the beginning. But now, now maybe because of the winter darkness; she's turned into a friggen nightmare. Either that or she's overdosing on hormones trying to get pregnant again...

I nod. "They're impossible to have a conversation with. I try and tell them what I like or dislike in a movie ~ and they just stare at me blankly before typing data back into the computer. It is MIND NUMMMBING!" I say. God, I'm starting to feel better already.

"I couldn't even talk to them about the Matrix!" I continue. I'm on a roll, "what kind of people don't want to have a conversation about the Matrix? I mean, come on! I try to start this dialogue with them about how disappointed I was with the sequels, I mean; really -- they had this amazing concept and they friggen threw it away! If I were writing the sequels I would have split them and made two convergent realities -- and released them on the same day!"

I start to get excited as the idea is rolling out of me, "And I would have the two alternate Universes interacting with each other to tell the whole story -- a sort of, 'choose your own adventure' type of thing, if you know what I mean." I look to her to make sure she's following. She's nodding along so I continue,

"And...and you would have to see both movies to get the complete story because each alternate reality is consequential of the other -- and what happens in one reality directly affects the other...and they would both be working towards the same outcome: destiny. They would both be working towards ridding Earth of the aliens that are feeding off the human brain waves!" I say. The plot starts to rework itself in my mind and I get lost in my train of thought.

"Girl," says my colleague, "You are in the wrong place. Start writing -- you seem to be good at it. And if you change your mind about the party tonight, give me a call. I'll come meet you at the door or something." she says. Smiles. And walks out the bathroom. At the same time her boss walks in and give us both a big smile before running quickly towards one of the stalls.

I grab my purse and head out the door before the bathroom starts to get stinky.

I should be writing... I think to myself as I head towards the exit reworking what I would have done if I were assigned the Matrix sequels.

She's right. I should be writing.