My mother was a fanatic about public toilets. As a little girl, she'd
bring me in the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat.
Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat.
Finally, she'd
instruct, "Never, never sit on a public toilet seat. And she'd
demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in
a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact
with the
toilet seat. But by this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd go
home.
That was a long time ago. Even now in our more mature years, "The Stance"
is excruciatingly difficult to maintain when one's bladder is especially
full.
When you have to "go" in a public bathroom, you find a line of women that
makes you think there's a half-price sale on Nelly's underwear in there.
So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, also crossing
their
legs and smiling politely. And you finally get closer. You check for
feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied. Finally, a stall door
opens and you dash, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.
You get in
to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter. You hang your purse
on the door hook, yank down your pants and assume "The Stance." Relief.
More relief. Then your thighs 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" as your thighs experience a quake that
would register an eight on the Richter scale.
To take your mind off it, you reach for the toilet paper. The toilet
paper dispenser is empty. Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny
tissue that you blew your nose on that's in your purse. It would have to
do. You
crumble it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your
thumbnail. Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't
work and your purse whams you in the head. "Occupied!" you scream as you
reach out for the door, dropping your tissue in a puddle and falling
backward, directly onto the toilet seat. You get up quickly, but it's too
late. Your bare bottom has made contact with all the germs and life forms
on the bare seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper, not that there
was any, even if you had enough time to. And your mother would be utterly
ashamed of you if she knew, because her bare bottom never touched a public
toilet seat because, frankly, "You don't know what kind of diseases you
could get." And by this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the
toilet
is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a
fountain, and then it suddenly sucks everything down with such force that
you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged to
China.
At that point, you give up. You're soaked by the splashing water.
You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a Chicklet wrapper you found in
your pocket, then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't
figure out
how to operate the sinks with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your
hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still
waiting, cross-legged and unable to smile politely at this point. One kind
soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece
of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River! You yank
the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and say warmly,
"Here. You
might need this."
At this time, you see your man, who has entered, used and exited his
bathroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you. "What
took
you so long?" he asks, annoyed.. This is when you kick him sharply in the
shin and go home.
This is dedicated to all women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a
public toilet. And it finally explains to all you men what takes us so
long.
PS - The answer to the other question, why women go in pairs. So the other
woman can hold the door and hand you Kleenex.
First time I ever saw a men's urinal, I was about 5 or 6 years old. I thought it was a tiny bathtub, and asked my mother if it was to wash pets in. Needless to say she rushed me into a stall. [We were directed to a men's room, when the "ladies" was out of commission.] Then I asked why there were so few stalls in the men's room, when the ladies had so many. I was rushed out very quickly. In the rushing in and out, I realized I had asked "one of those questions" that curious children do. I could have been president if she would have answered me!
Smiles,
Bette
Dear Leland this is so very true...so-so very true....been there done that..not once but many times in my silly life!!
Funny how you always need a Bloody Loo when you go to church or review...and yeah...the shopping Mall.... halfway through!!
Love Tinka