Twitter Story: Slip Up

One slip is all it took for everything to come crashing down.  You were talking with your boss undergoing a performance review.  You were THIS close to going from a temp job to becoming an actual member of accounting...and then lunch caught up with you.  You farted.

You leaned a bit to your left, and let out a squeaker right in front of your supervisor.  He sat across there from the desk and blinked at your, as if he himself was unsure what he was going to do.  In your defense, it was "Casual Friday".  "Did you...?"  He asks; clearly uncomfortable.

You try to lie, but just shake your head and act confused as if to say, "Where did that far come from?"  He doesn't buy it.  Instead, he pushes the big red button on his desk and your heart sinks into your stomach.  You knew he was strict, but to get fired?

Over this?  The door to his office opens up and a woman you've never seen before comes in behind you.  She doesn't say anything to the boss, instead grabbing your hand and gently leading you out the office.  Your throat goes dry and you try to ask what's going on.1

"Don't worry," the security lady says.  "You're not in any trouble, hun."  She leads you out of the office even as you're craning your neck backwards.  "You're just in the wrong place.  That's all."  When you whip your head back, you realize that you're not being escorted off the premises.  

You also realize that the lady isn't from security.  The word "daycare" is on her shirt.  "What's going on?" you asked.  "Where are you taking me?"  By the time the question rattles out of your throat, it's far too late for you to dig your heels in.

"It's okay.  You're not in any kind of trouble," the lady says.  "You didn't do anything wrong."  Through the window, the sun hits your eyes.  Your blindness lasts long enough for boring beige and harsh black and white to be replaced with bright happy rainbows and a gentle pastel palette.  The Pandora soundtrack tuned to the greatest hits of the 70's 80's and 90's is replaced by the greatest songs for ages 3 and under.  Impossibly, the woman lifts you up lays you down on a bench of some kind.  Digging your heels in wouldn't have mattered anyways.

"What are-?"  Your question is only compounded when the woman unbuttons and takes your pants off for you.  "WHAT?"  

"It's okay." she promises and shushes you; still going for your underwear.  It might as well be dryer lint with how easily she rips them off.  "Everything's fine."

Everything is NOT fine.  The giant diaper she takes out and unfolds makes it even LESS fine. It finally, occurs that you're not on an elevated bench.  You're on a changing table.   "I don't need d-d-d..." the word won't come out of you.  "THAT! I'm an adult!"1

Your protestations don't even break her stride.  "I'm sure you're a grown-up," she says, slipping the diaper underneath you.  "This is for just in case."

You hate how she uses the more infantile term of 'grown-up' instead of 'adult.  The baby powder she dusts your front and backside with doesn't feel very 'just in case'.

"Your Mommy or Daddy will be here by the end of the day and we'll have a talk.  If they say you're a big kid, you're a big kid." She finishes taping up the diaper, sealing you in.  "Until then, you'll just play here with the other babies."

You can't believe what you're hearing.  You've been out of your parents' house since you graduated highschool.  You can't remember the last time you needed diapers.  Here you are, though.  Barefoot in a nursery, wearing only a t-shirt and giant Luvs, stuck with a bunch of ba-...

Oh...  You're not the only diapered adult here.  Every other person on the play floor seems to be at least your age or older.  They're dressed differently: Colorful onesies and rompers. Baggy shorts and skirts with Huggies and Pampers peaking out the tops and bottoms.

They weren't dragged here from a performance review.  They came here dressed like this.  Someone dressed them like this.  Their Mommies or Daddies perhaps...

The idea that this is an act is shattered when moments later you see someone get their diaper pulled back and then get taken over to the changing table without so much as a squeal.  You see just enough to confirm that this isn't an act.  You investigate and start talking to the others.  A terrible, relatable pattern, begins to emerge.  

"I needed a new deodorant."  

"Forgot my belt."  

"Forgot to brush my teeth that day."  

"I picked my nose in front of someone."  

And yes..."I farted in front of the boss."  You gulp and start to cry softly.

If your experience mirrors theirs, your Mommy or Daddy will come and pick you up.  Instead of talking about what a big kid you were, the workers will tell them how good you were and then laughingly tell them how you almost got put in with the grown-ups by accident.

They'll all laugh knowingly; bullet dodged; and take you home, and you'll be stuck like this. Your room and furniture will all be like a scaled up version of your baby pictures, as will your wardrobe.

All the others can offer you is hugs and the assurance that it's not so bad.  At least you'll get plenty of stickers and smiley faces for your report cards.