mystery grab bag.

There is a Hollister bag in the woman’s bathroom closest to my office. It’s been there for about, ummmm, since I switched jobs. I pass it several times a day (because I drink a lot of water — don’t judge my bathroom-visit-frequency, or BVF, as it’s more commonly known) and always think to myself “What the heck?”

My WTH reaction was not an initial one, however, because the first time I saw the bag, I assumed it belonged to someone using the potty who set it in the lounge until they were done. Our bathrooms at HQ, or Mecca, aren’t really bathrooms at all. They’re Lounges. Welcome to the Women’s Lounge, or the Men’s Lounge. Which is interesting considering I thought Lounges and/or was one of those places we’re not supposed to visit as Assemblies of God employees, but whatever. Clearly, the signs were put on the doors in an era during which any mention of going number 1 or 2 (or even three — you know what I’m talking about) was considered icky, so they had to create even more far-removed euphemisms, since the totally-unrelated-to-what-we-do-in-there-words like “Bathroom” and “Restroom” aren’t dis-related enough (that’s a new word, BTW.) Thus, we end up with the even more vague and, let’s face it, a little questionable, “Lounge.”

Amyway, stop distracting me from my story, please. In our Lounge’s, pre-toilet area, there’s a little room with a couch, a table and chairs — for those morning coffee breaks that necessitate being as close as possible to a toilet — and a coat rack. The Hollister back was in said area. So I thought perhaps someone brought a change of clothes and set it there until they had to change. But this opened another Pandora's Bathroom of questions. Why are they changing? Job interview? Can’t they wait until they get home? Is it a back up in case someone else dresses the same? These are the questions I’m confronted with.

Of course, as days, weeks and months have gone by and the bag hasn’t disappeared, I now have new quandries to confront — and I fully plan on getting all up in their grill. For example, the bag keeps moving. Janitor? Annoyed Lounge patron? In the bag are some brown boots and a red and white polka dot dress. Below this, I don’t know, because I’m not a rummager. But one day, the dress was gone. Did some need a Minnie Mouse costume? Where did they get the ears? I doubt I will ever know.

Perhaps it’s a grab bag, but now it’s been put on a high shelf so I can’t really grab it at all. O-M-Gosh, I just had a thought. Maybe a homeless person sleeps here at night in our bathroom — sorry, our Lounge — and leaves their stuff there during the day. But why are the homeless shopping at Hollister and owning brown leather boots with a stiletto heel? Maybe there’s a new breed of Sexy Homeless. Unless the bag belongs to a man.

I’ve stumbled into a dark place.

Anyway, if it stays there too much longer I’m just gonna sell it on eBay - I mean, um, turn it into security.

There is a Hollister bag in the woman’s bathroom closest to my office. It’s been there for about, ummmm, since I switched jobs. I pass it several times a day (because I drink a lot of water — don’t judge my bathroom-visit-frequency, or BVF, as it’s more commonly known) and always think to myself “What the heck?”
My WTH reaction was not an initial one, however, because the first time I saw the bag, I assumed it belonged to someone using the potty who set it in the lounge until they were done. Our bathrooms at HQ, or Mecca, aren’t really bathrooms at all. They’re Lounges. Welcome to the Women’s Lounge, or the Men’s Lounge. Which is interesting considering I thought Lounges and/or was one of those places we’re not supposed to visit as Assemblies of God employees, but whatever. Clearly, the signs were put on the doors in an era during which any mention of going number 1 or 2 (or even three — you know what I’m talking about) was considered icky, so they had to create even more far-removed euphemisms, since the totally-unrelated-to-what-we-do-in-there-words like “Bathroom” and “Restroom” aren’t dis-related enough (that’s a new word, BTW.) Thus, we end up with the even more vague and, let’s face it, a little questionable, “Lounge.”
Amyway, stop distracting me from my story, please. In our Lounge’s, pre-toilet area, there’s a little room with a couch, a table and chairs — for those morning coffee breaks that necessitate being as close as possible to a toilet — and a coat rack. The Hollister back was in said area. So I thought perhaps someone brought a change of clothes and set it there until they had to change. But this opened another Pandora's Bathroom of questions. Why are they changing? Job interview? Can’t they wait until they get home? Is it a back up in case someone else dresses the same? These are the questions I’m confronted with.
Of course, as days, weeks and months have gone by and the bag hasn’t disappeared, I now have new quandries to confront — and I fully plan on getting all up in their grill. For example, the bag keeps moving. Janitor? Annoyed Lounge patron? In the bag are some brown boots and a red and white polka dot dress. Below this, I don’t know, because I’m not a rummager. But one day, the dress was gone. Did some need a Minnie Mouse costume? Where did they get the ears? I doubt I will ever know.
Perhaps it’s a grab bag, but now it’s been put on a high shelf so I can’t really grab it at all. O-M-Gosh, I just had a thought. Maybe a homeless person sleeps here at night in our bathroom — sorry, our Lounge — and leaves their stuff there during the day. But why are the homeless shopping at Hollister and owning brown leather boots with a stiletto heel? Maybe there’s a new breed of Sexy Homeless. Unless the bag belongs to a man.
I’ve stumbled into a dark place.
Anyway, if it stays there too much longer I’m just gonna sell it on eBay - I mean, um, turn it into security.

P.S. Picture coming soon!

UPDATE: I went into the bathroom to take a picture of the Mystery Bag and it was gone!! I guess that sexy homeless man came and took it.