Chairman

You should pee before you come upstairs. The bathroom is before you turn left.

Ok, see you in a bit.

I peek down the hallway.

WC 

I walk quickly towards the door and try the lock, but it’s a no go. Someone’s in.

I’m doing fine but have been walking for a while, and the urge has been constant for about 20 minutes.

It’s go time.

I adjust my body language and steel myself for another couple minutes.

No more than ‘just enough’ square feet, washrooms in Vietnam generally prioritize space. A small bideted toilet, minimal sink, just enough accoutrements to spice up our most basic of daily rituals.

So, when it’s my turn to sneak in, I’m momentarily taken aback.

A middle-aged security guard creaks the door open, decked out in navy blue brimmed cap and matching shirt. Name badge on his chest, all business on his face.

I’m of course expecting whoever was in front to be shaking off water or wiping on pants as the door swings ajar. But not this guy.

He holds in his hands a black and brown wood & metal folding chair.

He gently and methodically folds the chair and places it into a closeted water closet closet, a shelf filled with about 20 of the same chairs tucked within the wall inside this cramped space.

And I have questions.

What was he doing with that chair? 

Is it somehow part of his bathroom routine?

Does he use it to prop up his knees?

It is a ready prop in case a wrestler comes off the top rope?

Does he use it to steal a moment of needed sleep, in the one place he will not be disturbed?

I realize I want to ask him these questions, but he’s made his way down the hall and disappeared around the bend, no doubt back to work.

And as I close the door to take care of business, I realise this chairman has given me a whole new set of strategic goals.

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