Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Bathroom Anxiety.

Let me lay the scenario out for you: There were ten bathrooms at the airport, all of which were empty. I happened to walk in with someone behind me, so I picked a stall that would provide space between us. Etiquette, right?

But this random traveler didn't want space. She snuggled right into the stall next to me. For God's sake, our feet were almost touching.

Then the stage fright set in, so I started the "toilet paper game." This is when I pull more and more toilet paper from the roll in order to make noise to buffer any unwanted sounds.

She was just sitting there, not even flushing. Was she fucking meditating in the can? So there we were, two strangers in our stalls, afraid to make some doo-doo.

That's when I pulled the 'ol "fake tampon" trick. Again, it's a noisemaker, so my neighbor can feel comfortable doing her job and get the hell out of there so I can do mine. I lifted up the tampon disposal thing and dropped it, so she could think I actually accomplished something.

And why the hell do I care what this strange, fellow pooper thinks of me? Why am I going to all this trouble to make her feel comfortable when she was the one that sidled up next to me?

So I leaned down to check her shoes. Red pumps. Why is this important? I don't know, but it is. And don't pretend you haven't done this. When I worked in advertising, we'd report to each who was doing dirty business in the ladies room all the time.

I'd be working feverishly on a spreadsheet when my friend would rush up and say, "Someone with black patent pumps is blowing ass in the can. I couldn't breathe." So we'd spend all day investigating everyone's shoes to see who the offending pooper was.

It provided some excitement and it helped to know that a bitchy colleague poops just like every other person on this planet.

Back to the airport. My stall neighbor and I were out-waiting each other until we were forced to either shit or get off the pot. Literally. The boarding call for all rows was upon us. I "fake-flushed" and moved to the end of the row of stalls so I could do my thing in semi-privacy. There was no way I was getting stuck on a plane without completing my mission.

We washed hands at the same time and I withheld my need to say, "Congratulations. You out-waited me, which prompted a panic attack and required me to change stalls. Thanks, Red."

To which she would reply, "You have issues."

Aaaaaaand she'd be right.

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