Bathrooms and cameras

Years ago I worked as an electrician for a local contractor. A year or so after I passed my journeymen’s test, I was assigned a company service truck and given lots of small jobs. Most jobs were one or two day deals while some required a couple days a week over the course of months.

This particular job was one of my biggest to date. I was there during excavation, construction of exterior block walls, installing the service, right through to the finishing touches. Most of the time I worked alone only bringing help when I needed it

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The building was a standalone break room with bath, locker, and showers for the employees. It was located centrally on the manufacturing campus of one of the larger companies in Holland at that time. (As with too many of our home grown business’ that kept Holland alive over the years, the company was sold to a mega company who sold it to another and another until it was just too small to be profitable resulting in many loyal employees who made the owners rich being thrown out into the street.)

It was my last day there and I had some finish work to do; receptacles and light fixtures in the bathrooms. I was busy hanging the last two light fixtures above the mirror in the women’s locker room when a small Latino woman appeared with a mop and a bucket and starts cleaning. We were making small talk when she asked how long I would be yet. Me, with my smartass sense of humor, heard myself say “as soon as I am finished installing the cameras I will be done.” She never made a comment or even acknowledged that she heard me, she just kept working as did I. A few minutes later she took her mop and bucket and shuffled off.

I was busy putting the finishing touches on the room, making sure I didn’t miss anything when out of nowhere the room is full of people. Several were wearing white shirts and power ties, some were wearing suits as well as a smaller harried looking guy in a plaid shirt and blue jeans. I recognized the cleaning lady just outside the door, as the women’s locker room was so full of men she couldn’t possibly fit inside.  

One of the stuffed shirted power tie guys with unnaturally blond hair almost yelled at me; “where are the drawings!” Well, good afternoon to you too, asswipe I thought to myself as I said, “let me get them for you”. I handed him the architectural drawings and he snatched them out of my hands without so much as a thank you. Him and two other guys laid the prints on the white faux marble counter between the sinks and hunkered around them chattering excitedly. It was like watching the Chipmunks Christmas.

I was still puzzled by the sudden invasion of the women’s locker room so late on a Friday afternoon, but I went on about my business as well as I could with an increasing number of overdressed office dwellers crowding in.  There were even a few women joining into the fray and soon half the break room was also filled with curious rubberneckers looking for any excuse not to work. I carried out an armload of tools and stowed them in my truck, not an easy task with so many clueless bodies blocking the doorway. When I returned for my remaining tools, Blonde Power Tie asked me where the cameras are going to be mounted.

I froze. Trying to keep a straight face, “c..cameras?” I asked as innocently as I could. He waved his arms at the sink supported paper prints as if I was supposed to go look at them. Trying to quell my rising panic, I acted very interested in the prints while my brain was trying to come up with some kind of cover story. It felt much like the day my Dad found the Marlboro Reds in the glove box of my Camaro so many years ago. I just knew a shitstorm was coming, if it waited long enough maybe I could concoct a story they would buy.

With my Dad, I fell back on the age old “They belong to my friend” story. Since dad was a smoker, he chose the self serving route of just saying “don’t let your mom see that”. Mom was always the shitstorm producer in our house. He knew if mom even thought I was smoking, it would be his fault and the screaming would never end.

As I studiously examined the prints, I chose the route of ignorance and blame shifting. I casually flipped back and forth between the pages pretending to look closely at them, even though I had them memorized by this time. Waiting for the tension to build, I finally looked straight into Blondie’s face and said; “why would you put cameras in the women’s locker room?” as if it just came to me how ridicules the idea was.  All attention turned to him. You could feel the mood darken. He started to turn red as he quickly stammered, “I…I didn’t put any cameras in anywhere” attempting to sound indignant.

There were so many people in that little corner of the building that nobody would ever be able to figure out who heard it from whom. I still didn’t feel completely safe that I would not get blamed for this. But I figured that just this once I should keep my mouth shut. Assurances were made that there were no cameras anywhere in any part of the building and they were very sorry this misunderstanding happened and blah blah blah.

As everyone filtered back to their cubbys, I continued to pack up my stuff and clean up. I kept a wary eye out for the Latino cleaning lady who probably started this, I never saw her again. Over the next few days I wondered if I would get a call to explain what happened, but that never came either. The whole thing just kind of dissipated.

It was years before I told anyone about that day. It is also a constant reminder to how powerful words can be. I still don’t think I fully understand the power of words, and yes, occasionally still hear myself say stupid things.