Friday, May 6, 2011

Confessions From The Bathroom

Today during my brief break of my "Romantic Transport" class--which is really more about opium than literature, I went to the little stairwell of the JFSB where the cell-phone addicts gather like smokers in a glass cage that gets some service--fully expecting my phone to be flooded with loving texts. You can imagine my surprise* when all I got was the stupid Skweez--which wasn't even good. So, since I had no epistolary texts to reply to, I decided to kill some time and have a nice, relaxing trip to the bathroom (I'm not one to take recreational bathroom breaks, if I need to go to the loo it's because I mean business, so it was nice to relax). When I got there though, I was not presented the tranquil serenity I thought I would find, but instead I found myself faced with a moral qualm delineating my duties to mankind.

What happened, you may ask? Well, right as I entered the bathroom I noticed all the stalls were probably occupied, (I'm gathering that from the fact that all the stall doors were pretty closed and I wasn't going to be one of those people that try to punch open all of those doors that just might not have a half-naked body behind them) so I just settled in my hip and tried to inconspicuously check out my outfit in the mirror (verdict: should have gone with the other flats). Then, and this is where the stress starts, three stall doors open all at once.

Usually when you're waiting for an open toilet there's a system: you know there's going to be a wait if multiple women are standing without facing each other or speaking, (chatty waiters are either just in the bathroom to take in the scenery, or clearly not in as big of a rush as you are) you take your place in the group of waiters and you silently memorize everyone's face so that no one who has come in after you will try to elbow their way in front of you, (and you try to guess who has been waiting the longest and who needs to go the worst) then as people trickle out of the stalls you wait for the natural course of events to take place until everyone has gotten in and you are at the front of the hierarchy waiting for your one toiletmate to come out and you take their place on the other side of those stall doors.

This turn of events, however, goes against the system. Instead of the regular bathroom osmosis choosing for me which stall I was to do my bidness in, I had to use my own brain, and more importantly, heart to choose for myself. using some rapid-fire thought processes I immediately ruled out the first person that came out because she came out of the very first stall and I usually don't like to go to the very first stall because I feel like it's the one most used. And used by people who don't think about the fact that it's probably the one most used and thus aren't as savvy with public restroom germ etiquette. Then I ruled out the second one because she was kind of lingering in front of the stall door and I didn't exactly want to do-si-do my way into the privy.

Now, having ruled out the first two my choice should have been easy and sequential, right? Wrong! In my previous calculations I had failed to consider that there could have been a wildcard behind door number three, but in the process of walking toward the third and last stall I got pretty up-close and personal with the girl coming out of it and what I saw did not exactly appetize my bladder.

She was sweating! Not just like "oh, I was outside and straining to pick a blossom and I might have produced a bead of perspiration" but like hardcore sweating. I'm talking about dribbly forehead with the foggy upper-lip kind of sweat. Now, before you start thinking that I'm some kind of purist who can't handle a little bit of sweat, just know that at this point I was still willing to cut her a little slack. I mean, she probably took the stairs behind the RB that feel like you're ascending from the darkest circle of hell, and it's barely spring--no one's bodies are really used to the sun being out for more than six seconds at a time. Oh yeah, I'd cut her all that slack in the world! I mean I would probably squat over the seat, but I'd still pee in the same vicinity she did. It wasn't until I got closer to the stall that I realized why she had been sweating.

That. stall. stunk. so. bad. The smell was so pungent it was almost like I could chew it. Horrible. That girl had to have been doing some serious work. Stopping in my tracks, I knew I had a decision to make. I knew I wasn't going in there, but I wanted to go about it as gracefully as possible, seeing as all three bathroom contestants were now just barely starting to wash their hands. But, as happens in so many moments of mental duress, my mind went completely blank. Maybe it had to reboot itself after that horrible stench or something I don't know, but the point is that I had no idea what to do. So what did I do?

Walked right out of there. Yep. I did. I'm sorry if I made all of them self-conscious that none of them are suitable for public bathroom patronage, but I just couldn't figure out a better way to do it. I guess I can rule out solving the conflict in the Middle East as a possible career path.

*Ok, you're right, I wasn't extremely surprised.


Lauren said...

ha! love your description of the staircase. But really, so so true.
The JFSB is the dungeon of BYU.

Amy said...

oh my gosh alex, its 1:11 AM and i just read this post in my bed and I peed myself because I laughed harder than anything!!! By myself, in my bed. Best. Post. Ever.

Amy said...

okay, so I after processing this post i realized how much i miss listening to you tell stories. You are the best story teller. I have never laugh as hard as I do when I listen to your stories. Love you hot mamma!