Sarah Holly Bryant lives in New Jersey with her two ill behaved dogs and her nice husband. She majored in Creative Writing at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Sarah loves to fly fish and see the world, preferably at the same time.
The Water Closet
“I’m here for the drug test.” I feel like a junky. “The employment one.” I add.
“Fill this out.” The mean lady, who might not actually be mean, says meanly.
“Sure.” Done.
Bringing the forms back to the mean lady I smile and make eye contact. Hopefully I look bright and engaged, not manic and pie eyed. “Here.”
“What’s this?” Meany points at a box I’ve marked under other medical conditions.
“It says MS. I have MS. My handwriting is bad. But not because I have MS.”
“Where do you have it?” What a mean question.
“Everywhere.” It’s the truth.
“The restroom is there.” She points to a door with a sign on it that says, WC. I can’t remember what WC stands for. It’s something with wash I think. Wash Center. Wash Corner. Wash Closet. That’s it. Maybe not. I leave my sample for the sample checker on a shelf above the toilet labeled specemins. I haven’t done any illegal drugs in almost a decade, still I’m rattled.
“Hey, look who it is.” Crap. It’s my neighbor. He’s definitely done drugs in the last decade.
“I’m just finishing up.” I offer and close the Wash Closet door.
“That’s funny right?” He points at the WC. “So formal.”
“Right.” I reply.
“You’re nervous.” If he were standing closer I’m sure he would nudge me with his elbow. Eh, eh, eh neighbor. If I were holding the sample I’d drop it on his foot and the mean lady would have to clean it up.
“Can I leave?” Permission to leave Mrs. Meany?
“What does MS stand for?” She asks and I notice she has a rip on her eyebrow. It’s a scar that looks like a tare. Maybe an eyebrow ring that was grabbed out from her face in a fight. Mean.
“It stands for multiple sclerosis.” I say.
“Think I’ve heard of it.” She scowls.
“What does WC stand for?” I ask.
“Water Closet.” She replies.
She’s right. And mean. My neighbor is right too. I’m nervous. I’m nervous because I’m starting a new job. I’m nervous because I have MS and it makes me nervous. I’m nervous fatigue will make working impossible. I’m nervous I will be forgetful. Get overwhelmed. I’m nervous I will have a relapse and feel like my brain is on fire and my feet are asleep.
“What’s the matter? Think you’ll fail?” My neighbor asks.