|Photo Credit: sedonaobserver.com|
Public toilets are my hero.
Last week after a lunch date with my husband we went to Home Depot. Which is where all dates with your spouse end up. Unless it's Lowes. And by "we" I mean he went in and I stayed in the car because I follow him around like a puppy dog in that store which annoys him. So, it just works better for both of us this way. Plus I get a cat nap in. I was in the car when my gut started with that familiar churning. It was the nachos. Oh shit. I grabbed the car keys and made a beeline for the bathroom. I passed my husband in the parking lot. Who knows the only reason I would be speed walking into Home Depot. "You know where it is right?" Of course I do. I know exactly where the toilet is. In almost every store.
Insert silent prayer here.
Oh god, please, please don't let me shit my pants. Also, don't let me run into anyone I know who'll want to stop and talk to me. And for the love of you, don't let it be closed for cleaning. Or even worse, there's a line. I WILL use the men's room. I do kinda dress like a guy so maybe I could pass for transgender. And I don't care what the law says in whatever state I'm in. Because right now I'm in a state of panic.
I'm never more religious than when I make it to the toilet without incident. And I don't give a shit, I'll take the first stall. But, the problem with that is, someone is always in the second stall. The second stall is just safer. It's perceived to be cleaner and less frequented, but it's not. Everyone uses that one. It's probably the most frequented stall in the entire bathroom. And this day was no exception. Of course, I didn't realize that until I got into the stall, dropped my pants and saw the shoes of someone who had clearly been in there a while in the neighboring stall. I assume someone having the exact opposite problem of me.
Because what I need to do is going to be unpleasant, to put it pleasantly. And it was completely and totally quiet in there. You could hear crickets. Except crickets avoid restrooms because of the stench. Now, I'm not quite sure why I owe the shoes in the next stall the courtesy of trying to do what I need to do without a smell or a sound, but I feel it's a necessity, even though I'm in extreme pain. I memorized my neighbor's shoes and I'm positive she (or he) has done the same, so once we exit the restroom we'll surely recognize one another while avoiding any and all direct eye contact. Naturally this means I have a contractual social obligation to make my shit not stink. Which is impossible. Cause nachos.
Then I wait.
Maybe the shoes in the next stall will poop first. Then flush. Giving me the opportunity to try to get my noisy business done within the time constant of this audible distraction. Then the silent standoff began. Who'll break the silence? It took about 5 seconds during which it never occurred to me I could pre-courtesy flush the toilet to mask the heinous sounds I emitted until after I had committed the offense. And while I was horribly embarrassed, I was also greatly relieved. Not only that, I didn't have to sit there basking in someone else's stank waiting for the magic to happen. Those sensible shoes were probably crazy jealous that I got to walk out of there first. (After washing my hands of course.) Then, they'd be the ones walking around the store looking for my shoes while recounting my heinous discourteousness in the toilet with a shopping mate. While I was long gone. And anonymous.
And on the controversy raging about which toilet a transgender person should use? This is where I stand on that...
(Also, this is one of my favorite, albeit, completely unpopular tweets.)