Being a serious regular has its drawbacks. I can count with one single hand the times I’ve been constipated, and I’m not even using all my five fingers. I remember the time I was with my family on an all-inclusive vacation in a hotel on a beautiful Caribbean Island. My family of mom, dad, three sisters and myself were having a great time. Our fancy suite had two bedrooms, a large living area with a kitchenette, complete with a dining area and two bathrooms, but they were both taken, and I desperately needed one. I needed to take out the trash…if you follow my drift. 

I found myself in the overbearing necessity –and also dangerous at this point- of having to dash down to the lobby restrooms with a heavy package to deliver, 7 floors below! So, you can imagine the whimsical scene of me, running like stepping barefoot on a bed of hot coals, and cursing my sisters all the way down to the main floor, for nothing more than taking their sweet time in the bathroom…the two bathrooms of our lavish hotel suite! Although to be fair, they were probably in the middle of some unloading operation as much as I was. 

I stood in front of the twin elevator shafts for a crushingly long time. The doors were closed, they wouldn’t open. I could see the glowing numerals above the doors blinking on and off, but they seemed to be always skipping the 7^th floor on every run up or down, as if on purpose! I can assure you, I was not in any kind of Seventh Heaven by any stretch! But I made a split-second decision for my own good, and that of the hotel property integrity, so I fled to the emergency stairs as if Michael Jackson was running after me down a dark alley. I was beginning to sweat cold and see double. I was clenching my butt cheeks and holding my breath till lightheadedness, none of which worked terribly well. 

Then, the third one of my sisters, the only one that was not sitting on a toilet, keeping me from managing my business, stopped me dry as I stepped out of the elevator at the lobby, and began telling me about these cool people she had just met at the activity centre by the beach, under a thatched-roof building that resembled a traditional Maya house: “Their brother plays guitar! Just like you…I’m sure you’d like them. I made plans to get together after supper by the pool bar tonight, we’ll be playing board games, you must come. Oh and by the way, the guy’s sister is about your age and very cute, her name is Ginger!”, my sister blared enthusiastically. But I was in no mood to hear about noisy Americans trying to be friendly, plus she made me lose momentum and concentration, and I almost had an embarrassing accident right there. Luckily, as I dismissed her, I could regain my almost meditative focus on the one mission I was in the middle of: delivering a steaming bastard in one shape. 

I wanted to crumple all three of my sisters into a ball and toss them in the ocean. “I’m on a life preserving predicament, no time for wet talk now”, I blurted to my sister as I resumed my race to prevent bursting a pipe, “I can only meet you guys tonight for board games, if I make it through the next five minutes of my life, so out of my way!”, I uttered, and she continued her trip back to our hotel room back from the beach. 

Then, everything almost went sadly askew as I did a painfully slow pass by the lobby of the hotel. I was struggling to put up a poker face for discretion’s sake, as beads of cold sweat crowded my frown. It felt as if the slightest effort could make me burst into shreds. My head overflew with images of a life-threatening event which everybody in that hotel would remember for the rest of their lives: the walls and ceiling, the water fountain at the centre of the reception hall, the expensive furniture and all the people, which were for the most part, pink-skinned people smelling of booze, stale coconut oil and toasted cutis, got splattered by my resounding body explosion.

Fast-forward a mere 15 seconds, and all I can say is that my problems seemed to vanish once I went through the restroom door, sat on the toilet seat, and that I will spare you the details of how things went down from that point on (no pun intended). 

+  +  + 

I recently had a job for a brief period, in a very successful enterprise in their field of operations. Effectively, it was an organization that capitalized on the cost of opportunity they knew very well they had and knew how to use to their advantage. Internally, one of the organizational strengths the company had was slamming heavily the planning and problem-solving cards on the table, making all hierarchical levels of staff take accountability for their decisions, and ultimately owning the outcomes of their actions. This, combined with the leadership of their mid-management staff, which mastered the art of mobilizing their floor-personnel – a highly engaged migrant-based workforce, which was essentially the biggest asset of the company- made up for an almost winning formula, and unstoppable industrial juggernaut.  

The downside to it was that all of the above described success was achieved at a cost. Working shifts were inhumanly long, often consisting of 13 or 14 hours, and the expectations from these employees by middle and upper management were quite unreasonable. The atmosphere was dense, and the lower-level staff seemed to fear the reactive and punishing responses from the top down. One needn’t look too close to realize that this company basically behaved like a plutocratic authoritarianism, reaping the fruits of the massively exploited, imported manpower. I can hear your thoughts saying: “modern-day slavery”. But that is a story I may tell another time. 

Back to my job, as a member of the QA and manufacturing team, my routine was such that by 9 am, I had already participated in two in-person meetings and a quick virtual briefing, every day! And the expectations from me to deliver results were equally challenging as they were for my colleagues in the production positions. 

Everyday was a struggle and a Calvary of suffering for me in that job. I can’t stress enough how frustrating it was to be holding back those Freudian muscles for somebody else to get rich; containing myself from a healthy sit-down on the porcelain bowl in favour of career advancement and company success; basically, sacrificing my bodily functions, my physical well-being and the joy of a morning dump. At once, I came to the realization that my need for validation and recognition by my superiors was not that big. I could do without the accolades and the achievements, if that meant to renounce to something as basic as a bowl smearing session. Especially when considering that the whole thing -as my story up above puts it,- is all about self-preservation. To wrap it up, this was more than a no-no for me. This situation was not just a pet peeve, but single-handedly, reason enough for me to quit the job. And that’s exactly what I did. Not before leaving an eloquent, carefully crafted message for my boss, from the bottom of myself, by the twin conference halls, upstairs, at the bathroom of the administration area.

What about you? What is something you’ve had to relinquish or stop doing in order to preserve or recuperate your freedom, or assert your own personal power?