I am a corporate robot.  I work for an IT company in Missouri.  This is no mom and pop operation.  Annual revenues in 2006 were $1.38 billion.  B, motherfuckers.  Billions.  The company employs about 7000 people worldwide and has holdings in the UK, France, India, Australia and more.  I am not saying this to toot the company horn, but rather to properly paint a backdrop on which to relate the following tale.

The floor of the building in which I work is pretty much your average cube farm, save one spot on the 3rd floor where you’ll find one employee so goddamn handsome, charming, and intelligent you’ll want to sever all ties with your family and friends and quit your job just to stare into his eyes all day.  I’m the desk next to his.  The one with the Optimus Prime action figure on the desk.  In any case, on my floor, near the bathroom, there is a ‘privacy room’.  It’s a room about 8′ x 8′ with a comfy chair, a small table, and a  phone.  I know what you’re thinking, because it’s what I was thinking when I first saw it.  Either A) a great place to catch a nap during the day or B) a great place to score some mid-day head from that hot chick in HR.  Unfortunately, most people use it for something responsible like taking a private phone call or organizing their thoughts quietly or some other stupid shit that doesn’t involve taking your pants off.  Most people. 

This little room is directly across from the kitchen.  I walk into the kitchen grab some water and a lady is washing something in the sink.  Could be a coffee mug, could be Tupperware from lunch.  Who knows?  I stand there, trying hard not to give off the ‘Hurry the fuck up’ vibe until I realize what she’s washing.  It’s a breast pump.  For those now confused, go here.  I saw it and audibly whispered, “What the fuck?”  I caught myself and wasn’t really sure what to do next.  If I left abruptly, it would be obvious that I saw it and freaked.  Part of me wanted to pour a cup of coffee from the machine, put some sugar in it, and ask her to top me off with a squeeze of the fresh stuff.  Being the pacifist, I kept my giggles inside and waited for her to finish cleaning her tit juicer and leave.  I then surveyed the scene and formulated a scenario.  She had been in the privacy room, milking herself, not munching the box of the hot HR chick, then washing her boobie milk all over the sink. 

This leads to my main question:  Why would you clean that contraption in the kitchen sink, rather than in the bathroom?  Washing it in the sink sets you up for every guy who stumbles upon your cleaning session to react exactly how I did, and maybe even some women to be taken aback.  Doing it in the bathroom, everyone’s on the same team.  Everyone likes babies.  They’re all women.  They understand.  Maybe they high five you, I don’t know.  The point is, if you’re doing where everyone can see it, you really putting yourself out there to be known as ‘the chick who uses the privacy room to milk herself’.  Coming from the guy who is known as ‘the guy who always leaves the comfy chair sweaty and sticky’, trust me; it’s a stigma you can do without.