A Public Bathroom Trauma

Today is bizarre. Aside from the fact I’ve had some really ridiculous and really ironic car troubles (this will be another blog post; perhaps tomorrow when I’m still not so enraged about it) I just had the ODDEST. BATHROOM. ENCOUNTER/EXPERIENCE. EVER. Seriously. Like, I think I’m experiencing some PTSD, here.

So, I’m at work, and on my break, and I need to use the ladies’ facilities. So I traipse on in and occupy the first stall. The first thing I notice after placing the sanitary tissue paper thing on the seat and sitting down was a rather large, hairy spider lingering around my right stiletto shoe. He was quite the menacing one, and I always find these intimidating monsters in the bathroom here at work. It’s so gross, there’s like an infestation of them in there or something. So I’m tinkling, when someone else comes in and completely breaks the public bathroom code of ethics and takes the stall right next to me, instead of doing the “every other stall if at all possible" rule. And then I have this thing…phobia, whatever: I don’t want her to see me. I mean, I know we all pee, but I have to stay in the stall until she gets up and leaves - anonymity is a must. So I’m willing her to finish her biz-nass, all the while quite wary of the giant arachnid waiting to strike and take my life and/or right foot, or perhaps rape me, who knows - anything could happen at this point. So, finally, as she steps out of the stall and washes her hands,my phone starts ringing. I look at the caller ID, and it’s my doc – Docalicious – and I have been waiting for ages to talk to this amazing looking human being/doctor, and I just can’t can’t can’t let it go unanswered. So I let it ring several times before I answer it, until Unknown Woman leaves. And just as she opens the door, I answer my phone – right before it goes to voicemail.

Now, let me pause here. I am fully aware at this point that I am a) in a bathroom stall talking on the phone. This is not only gross, tacky, but non-functional
but also b) that I am sitting on a toilet with my pants down talking on the phone. And not just to anyone, but to, like, a professional who no doubt would be horrified if he knew he was talking to me with my pants down.

But it gets worse. Read on.

So as the lady washes her hands, and opens the door to leave, she also decides to turn off the lights. Yeah. She really did. And these bathrooms have no windows. They have no warming and quaint night-lights plugged into surreptitious outlets. They have nothing but cold hurtful humiliating darkness. Darkness that’s really DARK. As in PITCH DARK.

So there I am, talking to my doctor for nearly ten minutes, sans pants in a pitch black public bathroom. Between trying to focus on my convo with him, I was also able to devote about 47% of my other brain power to either worrying about the arachnid gnawing it’s way through my designer stiletto and starting in on my foot to somebody walking into the bathroom and discovering that there actually is, someone, in fact, who is on their bloody phone in the pitch dark (with their pants down).

Thankfully, neither of these things happened. Once said phone call was over, I was so grateful for my cell, because it was able to double as a flashlight. I had to hover it over the toilet paper dispenser, then use it to find the handle to flush, then use it to unlock the stall, and you get it by now, yada yada yada.

Once the lights were back on, I thoroughly checked my person and could find no greedy spider gobbling at me and my liciousness. I’m still unsure, but I’m pretty positive he’s no longer on the vicinity. (As in, my vicinity.)

So I’m a little shaken. I feel weird. And I can’t stop myself from continuing to ask why the hell would anybody do that? What a reject.

Although, it makes for a great April Fools’ joke come next year...