Myth #8: The Pumpin’ is Easy
Once inside, I get it. Instantly.
An extension cord is plugged into an outlet by the sinks and stretched taut across the room, where it disappears up into the first stall. At the same time, the unmistakable sound of breast pump wheezing fills the air.
I can also see the black, peep toe pumps—and the fact that the mama who owns them is likely perched on the toilet (with no lid) collecting milk for a baby that is somewhere else.
You would think that in a fancy pants office building like mine—complete with art gallery in the lobby—someone could spare a damn broom closet with an outlet and a folding chair.
On October 12, 2011