When you have to visit a public restroom, you usually find a line of women, so
you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet
under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you
dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.
You get in to
find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are
about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by
someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the
door hook, if there was one, but there isn't-so you carefully, but quickly drape
it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the
FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance".
In this position
your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but
you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so
you hold "The Stance".
To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you
reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your
mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean
the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake
more.
You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on
yesterday-the one that's still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your
neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same
time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's
smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes your door open because the
latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck
in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backwards against the tank
of the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your
precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lost your footing
altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of course.
You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made
contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because
YOU never laid down toilet paper-not that there was any, even if you had taken
time to try. You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew,
because, you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat
because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could
get."
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so
confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against
the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that covers your butt
and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks everything
down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for
fear of being dragged in too.
At this point, you give up. You're soaked
by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe
with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously
to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic
sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past
the line of women still waiting. You are no longer able to smile politely to
them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet papet
trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the
paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here,
you just might need this."
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has
long since entered, used, and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What
took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"
This
is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with public restrooms. It finally
explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their
other commonly asked questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's
so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex
under the door!
Wendy