Now, I may have put a variation of this piece up already. If so, my apologies-
The building was shiny and new and had rooms named after famous painters. The canteen was the Matisse and the ground floor open plan the Turner. They were running training out of the Picasso, which had been decorated based upon his little known IKEA period. Paul was desperately tring to find the Duchamp room before his bladder burst.
Right after the reception desk, he had been told, but that corridor had led him to the Lowry room. On his way back he spotted it, a little alcove off to the side.
He couldn’t help but sigh with pleasure as he finally got to let go into the urinal. Then his phone rang.
He could ignore it. It rang some more. He couldn’t ignore it. “Yes.”
“Where are you?” Marie Daley.
He could just hang up. “I’m taking a piss.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. Paul could afford to smile as he cradled the phone between shoulder and chin and zipped up.
Back in the corridor, Paul stared with disgust at the phone in his palm, hoping to transmit the emotion even after disconnection. Turner was closer than Picasso, so he might as well go straight there. He selected Owen’s number and auto dialled.
“You got lost didn’t you?”
“Only a little. I’m just too lazy to climb the stairs and tell you I’m going to find a free PC.”
“Why you doing that? We do have training on.”
“Well the Bitch Queen wants me to get in my car and drive all the way back to Manchester. They’ve got some problem or other.”
“You’d get there at, what, ten o’clock? Does she expect you to start fixing things at that time of night?”
“Probably. That’s why I’m ignoring her and doing it over the network. There’s the added benefit of not having to see her ugly face.”