I have severe issues with bathrooms.
Bathrooms are usually the setting for the most traumatic moments in my life, aside from the gynecologist.
I have no idea why, but it could be a fear for public bathrooms in general. I have always felt like I have to perform well in there.
I know people are judging that performance and if I make a weird, offensive noise or look at someone for too long, some dispatch close by will be informed of my misstep.
Then, a very stern Officer of Bathroom Behaviors will roll his eyes, find my permanent record from grade school and fill out a complete incident report. The poor guy has to write his hands to the bone because of me.
This summer, when the incident in question occurred, my parents and I were on our way home from Massachusetts where we had visited family.
This involved 13 to 15 hours of constant contact with them, which should have made it awkward and painful enough without having to go to the bathroom every hundred miles. I managed to sleep for the first few hours in an awkward position in the back seat, cocooned in a blanket with my legs above my head, trying to achieve the ultimate sleep position in spite of the fact that I could not lay down horizontally like normal people do.
It is amazing to think of the various ways to try to sleep in the car without actually being horizontal. The possibilities are endless. And you have to get creative when sleeping is one of your few car trip defense mechanisms.
My main problem is that my limbs regularly fall asleep anyway, so what’s to stop them from falling asleep when they are curled in the yogi position above my head as I try to block out the sounds of my parents and Bob Dylan. (I love Bob, but sometimes Theme Time Radio Hour gives me weird dreams.)
Finally, after three hours of acrobatic sleep, we stopped at the second rest area of the day.
It was a normal highway rest stop, complete with a large swath of land to let your furry loved ones play and vending machines that are slightly above the prices of items at gas stations.
As I recall, I didn’t have any serious need to go to the bathroom. It was not a life or death situation.
However, I always go to a public bathroom with a sense of foreboding. Like I said before, I have to perform. I have to meet expectations. I cannot stand out. And whatever I do, I cannot giggle at any of the horrendously loud farts.
I must suppress my true self and hide all personality in the public bathroom. There is protocol.
As I reached toward the door handle, my hand, and almost my face, was quickly squashed by a toothless woman. There was an audible crack as my wrist bent backward.
She had a cigarette and lighter in hand. With her free hand, she quickly pushed me aside to get to where she was allowed to formally destroy herself.
No, really. And I actually stood there with my mouth open thinking “Wow, jerk, are you really not able to wait the extra second to be polite and not injure a stranger or is that cigarette going to resuscitate all of the dying infants in the world?”
I continued to just stand there – door and mouth still agape. A group of people passed, who were all very thankful that I was still holding the door, even if I had a strange look on my face.
And somewhere, some guy rolled his eyes, cracked his knuckles and opened up my file…
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