Ohmigosh, I actually had a dream last night that I was on the Star Trek the Next Generation set (not that old neon Enterprise), and I actually found the public restrooms. (The set in my dream was actually built to the full-size layout of the ship you see.) Anyway, the public restrooms! I can't remember seeing those in any of the shows, but you know there had to be a public restroom on each deck in case you didn't have time to make it back to your quarters. And what do you know, but they had cattle-trough style urinals in the men's room. And I thought, wow, there's the future. No privacy. And sure enough, the crappers didn't have doors on them either. Double wow. And I had to go too. But, since it was a studio set, there wasn't any water in the bowls, and all the plumbing was fake. Then the dream morphed into me needing to change my clothes in one of the doorless stalls, only to realize I had left the main entry door open, which just happened to be across the hall from the gym, which just happened to be heavily populated with fiercely exercising female ensigns. So I danced for them.
No I didn't. That's like the part of a dream where you're about to die and so I just woke up.
My spacious, North-American-sized, personal space bubble has been getting violated a lot at work recently, and the smoldering fuse of my pacifism is about to expire. The cramped working conditions are bad enough. Why make them worse by getting all up on me when you need to talk to me? And it ain't just one person doing it. I need to just say something, rather than just letting it get to where the sparks are snapping in my brain each time it happens. I hate having my back to the door :'(
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