My coworker stopped by unannounced this morning.

This past week was the busiest of the year here at the office, with our the end of the quarter approaching and a major annual event just having taken place. The office was abuzz with preparations, littered with items from the event, boxes of manilla folders, and other speckles of miscellany. Hours have been unusual all week, with all the preparations being made at off-hours and outside consultants coming in and out of the place. For me, this resulted in extended hours away from my temporary home, dedicating a little extra time here and there at the public library or local park.

Needless to say, I was tired.

So I decided to reward my hard work and careful evasion by sleeping in on Sunday morning. Everything had been quiet on the day before, so I figured this was my lucky weekend.

I ended up sleeping until 10:30. A solid 9+ hours of uninterrupted slumber, thanks to a pair of earplugs and tremendous need. It was exactly what the doctor ordered.

When I awoke, I grabbed my morning juice, stowed my sleeping bag, and arranged the sofa cushions of my bed into their original loveseat resting spot. The plan was to ease myself into the day.

After all, what could go wrong?

About ten minutes into said day-easing, I had my answer. It came in the form of a strange female voice echoing from beyond the front door. Not strange in the way she sounded, but strange in the way the voice traveled. Normally when I hear a voice on the weekend, its sound is traveling in an east-west direction along the sidewalk. But this voice seemed to be directed in a southerly direction. Towards the office door. I didn’t recognize the voice at all–it was younger, perhaps that of an elementary student, and casual. It could have been any child, but it struck me as unusual.

I looked up from behind my desk to see if I could spot anyone beyond the office door.

Nothing.

Despite that, I had the sudden, overwhelming urge to run. To conceal myself in some place other than behind my desk, just in case this voice was in fact approaching my door. I was still groggy and a bit disheveled, dressed in Adidas pants and a mismatched old cashmere sweater, but my practice uniform look didn’t prevent me from taking game-time action; I immediately grabbed my chair cushion pillow and vaulted it over my cubicle wall to its proper place on my colleagues seat, leaving behind the pair of yellow earplugs as collateral damage. I grabbed my phone, shoved my shoes haphazardly under the desk, and turned to flee into the back foyer. That’s when I glanced at the front door and saw her.

It was Carla, our PR rep.

I was horrified. Carla must have been stopping in to drop off remaining files from this past week’s meeting, and the voice must have been that of her 10-year-old daughter. Carla was the worst person, aside from the building’s landlord, who could stop in unexpectedly because she was apt to ask the blunt question. What the hell was I doing here on a Sunday morning, looking like I just got out of bed? It would be a valid question, one for which my bleary-eyed ass currently had no answer.

In that moment when I saw Carla, I was both relieved that I had spotted her and panicked that I had no legitimate place to run. As she turned from the door to greet her daughter, putting her head down to fumble with a box, I paused momentarily and surveyed my situation. Hunched over the exposed corner of my desk, I noticed my cold, partially full juice jug standing in the middle of the floor. So I bent over to grab it, spun around, and sprinted to the back foyer. Successfully out of sight, I’d bought myself another few seconds to make a decision. Do I head to the back storage closet, curling up amongst the dusty supplies in the darkness? I started to make my way to the very back. But wait, if I did, what if Carla decided to go back there? What if the stuff she was carrying in had to be stored where I was hiding? The idea was too dicey. I turned around.

Then it hit me.

The bathroom. I’d run into the bathroom.

Let’s pause for a moment and remember that I am a 30 year-old man, gainfully employed and respected in the field, with an advanced degree from an internationally revered institution of higher learning. And here I am, playing hide-and-go-seek with a woman nearing 50 so as to keep secret the fact that I have been spending the night sleeping under the desk next to hers. It is, undoubtedly, the most absurd of scenes. And some people, legitimately or not, would consider this an indication that my life has plunged to a precipitous low. I, however, disagree. Because the way I see it, rare moments like these are what constitute my “rent”. What I pay in minor routine inconvenience and irregular moments of white-collar suspense, countless others pay monthly with large sums of money earned through scores of hours of labor. And while neither is a particularly luxurious way to exist, I can’t say for a fact that my situation is definitively worse than the other.

Concealing myself on the toilet in our office bathroom, I acknowledged that this was exactly the situation I asked for. So I waited, hoping that the loud lavatory fan (which comes on automatically when one flips the light switch) wouldn’t alarm Carla or her daughter into investigating the unisex restroom, even just to come and turn it off to save energy.

But that never happened.

I spent about twenty minutes on the toilet, long enough to actually make use of the thing, and to come up with an excuse for my presence if, when I finally walked out, the two were still in the office. Once I did emerge, though, they were gone. All seven boxes of stuff were piled neatly near the front door. Neither Carla nor her daughter had bothered to travel in as far as my desk. I probably could have remained undetected if I’d stayed behind my desk.

I’m writing this an hour after the fact, lounging back in my desk chair, reflecting on the absurdity of it all, wondering whether or not I have learned anything at all from this morning.

Of course I have. This morning was a mine of beauty and awareness, a time for self-reflection and humility. I can only hope I’ll store away its lessons for the long haul.

Anyway, after all that stress, I think it’s time for a nap…