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To the woman in the next stall. I was there for a job interview, so I was a bit preoccupied. This was part of the problem. Between interviewers, I realized I should take the opportunity to make a bathroom stop, as I didn't know when my next chance would be. I saw a man coming from a pair of restroom doors down the and headed that way. As I got to the door, I was momentarily distracted by a piece of artwork. This was another part of the problem. The first stall was occupied - by you - and I took the next one. Sat down to do my business. Took out my to answer a couple texts. and such. And there we sat for a minute or so until you finished your thing. As you washed up at the sink, I glanced up and caught a glimpse of you through the in the stall door. My mind was still mostly elsewhere, but I vaguely registered that for a dude, you looked womanly from behind. But whatever. I looked back at my to resume my text, but a number of oddities began to sink in at the edges of my awareness, and they began to nag at me. You were very womanly looking. I couldn't remember seeing any urinals in this bathroom when I came in. Just stalls. There's a red box on the wall of my stall that doesn't look like anything I've ever seen before. You were very womanly looking. Now, finally, I've become fully aware of my surroundings. This is not the men's room. I'm on a toilet, pants around my ankles, in hand, taking a dump in the women's restroom at the company I'm interviewing for a job at. Oh. Oh god. My is tempered only slightly by my animal brain kicking in, racing in an adrenaline-fueled frenzy of situation assessment. I can't just out of here. There are things to be done first. If someone comes in, I'm screwed. I have another interview in minutes, I can't just wait it out. I have to go now. NOW. Go. Hurry. Wipe. Pants up. Shirt tucked in. Snap. Buckle. Bathroom still empty. . Hand on stall door. Deep breath. Go. Sink. Watch the door in the mirror, still no one coming. Wash. Dry. GO. Hand on door. Wince. Grit . Open door. A quick look around and tulsa bisexuaul swingers. Swinging. I can see I've gotten lucky. Only one person in sight, and he's engrossed in paperwork. Two steps out the door and I'm at a water fountain. Not thirsty, but I take a drink anyway, to make it to anyone who should happen by what exactly I'm doing here. Just getting a drink of water, ma'am. Not lurking in your bathroom, ha ha, of course not, why would I do that? Thirty seconds later I'm shaking hands before my next interview. So to the woman in the next stall: I don't know who you are. I don't know whether you saw my shoes and wondered what to make of them, or whether - like me - you were preoccupied with your own matters. I only know that, had you not done your thing when you did, had you not washed up when you did, had you not been visible through my stall door when you were... there could have been one hell of a commotion in your workplace that day. Thank for you and your bodily functions.