THE TURQUOISE PEN

LARGE WATER JUGS BANNED FROM OFFICE

Noël R. King

Sally Reynolds used to carry a 96-ounce water jug with her to work every morning, filled with fresh, filtered water, straight from her Brita jug that she keeps religiously in her refrigerator at home in her kitchen.

That was then. This is now.

"I can’t believe it," Reynolds says, when asked why her once ubiquitous jug is no longer anywhere to be seen in her office where she goes to work every morning in Takoma Park. "They banned them. They banned them just like that."

She sits there, shaking her head numbly. A reporter has to repeat his questions. It is clear that she is lost in her own thoughts. Or perhaps her thoughts have no water on which to travel through her brain.

The story of why Reynolds may no longer drag her large jug with her to work is a long, involved one. Mostly, though, her employer asserts that Reynolds was spending far too much time away from her desk and in the restroom.

Reynolds does not deny that she spent an average of five to 10 minutes per hour traveling to and from her office to the restroom 100 feet down the hall. But she contends that her employer has refused to see the benefits of her water consumption.

"Sure I was spending a lot of time in the bathroom peeing," she agrees. "But heck! Look what kind of penetrating concentration I was able to give them when I was NOT in the bathroom! I’m telling you—have you ever consistently drunk 96 ounces of water a day? Your mind revs up to warp speed! Now I can barely think, having drunk just that one puny cup full of water over there."

She gestures listlessly to a bedraggled, 8-ounce paper cup sitting crumpled on the edge of her desk. She says she has not drunk more than that today because she has not had the energy to go fill it up. Also, she worries about getting stopped in the hallway and questioned by the Director of Personnel if she is seen sneaking more water to her desk than she is allowed.

When a reporter surreptitiously hands her a glass flask of water, after checking both ways down the hall for nosy passersby, Reynolds starts tearing up. But her tears are only half size.

When asked if she’s ever considered quitting her job, Reynolds eyes widen. "Wow! I never thought of that!" she responds, a look of relief crossing her dried-up face. "I never really liked the bathrooms here anyway."

Reynolds was last seen driving a water truck to local businesses. She carries her 96-ounce jug of water in a special compartment she’s had constructed for it right next to the driver’s seat. And she is known to frequently ask to use her patrons’ restrooms.

—As circumstances warrant, through her Turquoise Pen column Noël R. King, Reston, Virginia, reports on strange and wonderful things, including issues of employment and water usage.