I fully grasped this in a stairwell of a nine-story office building on the 200 block of Wilshire Boulevard, praying to the high heavens that there were no video cameras, or particularly industrious members of the workforce that eschew elevators in favor of good, old-fashioned legwork.
For anyone who's ever performed a pool-side deck change, I promise, my maneuver was about half as salacious.
I went to the building to interview a subject for a business profile, and I was running short on both time and excuses.
It was the usual tale. My Big Blue Bus, which I pick up at the Green Line Station by LAX after a 5.5-mile bike ride from my house in Gardena, Calif., already had two bikes on its front rack, which meant a 15-minute wait for the next Rapid 3 to trundle into the lot.
That put me in Santa Monica at 8:35 a.m., neatly excising the time I'd planned to use to change from sweaty biking clothes into generic work clothes, and try to approximate a trained professional.
That ship had sailed. I disembarked the bus and went straight to my final destination, locked up my bike and sprinted inside, stopping just long enough to ask the desk attendant where I might find a restroom that, as fate would have it, turned out to be locked.
Panicked, I searched the halls for a second facility, and found only the door to the stairwell, hanging slightly ajar. Sometimes, you "gotta do what you gotta do."
he idea emerged half-baked during a conversation with a friend about the nature of our trash and waste in the context of the Beavan family, who hit the national spotlight in 2006 with their well-publicized "no impact year," where they avoided many creature comforts of modern life and worked out a way to bring their environmental impact to zero.
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