It’s eerily quiet in here. Truthfully, a water closet tucked away and hidden beside a network closet in a huge downtown building is no room to spend an hour in, unless you’re getting mops ready for the floor or washing your hands after a grueling few hours of dusty shelf cleaning. The building itself is fifty-seven years old. Back then this was probably where the janitors hung out.
Strange.
The humming of the routers and the fluorescent bulbs right next door keep a low audible resonance that seems almost calming. When the building was built, the adjoining network closet was probably where they stored boxes, brooms and a bunch of books.
The water closet though, which sat smack dab in the middle of that humming network room and an open staff service area was rarely used. No window graces its concrete wall, only a smart wall air conditioner that surely wasn’t there when they originally built it.
That lone deep ceramic sink, the only other thing in this small ten by five room, is an eyesore. Outdated by decades, it dates the building faster than any other object on the entire floor. Yet it still works, delivering water for mop buckets and the like. The stories that this room could tell.
Was it once a room of solace for an employee that found out his father had passed away while he was at work, or where one employee shoved another in there to share lustful passion right under the noses of supervisors and co-workers and never shared the exploits? Perhaps, a creative spot for an artist or writer who needed a quiet space to create during lunch?
For a four walled enclosure smaller than an average jail cell, surely many stories abound. Standing quietly, alone in the room, the sounds of office workers passing by, sharing a laugh or griping about their schedule zip through the air in muffled silence. How long could I remain here before someone finds out? How many people step foot in here during the day – during the week – aside from the cleaning crew later in the evening?
As my full hour comes to a close, I found no greeters, no curiosity seekers, not even an I.T. network professional. I could probably camp in here. Hmm, add a microwave, a mattress – very small mattress – and a ROKU, I’d be set. But for now, I will venture out where everyone else is. I may have to bring my microwave tomorrow.
Tampa native Lou Normann credits Marvel and Twilight Zone as his inspiration for writing. His passion for words and language forces him to pen short stories when he isn't sleeping.