As Time Goes By.....

A little bit about EVERYTHING.. Family , friends , life, death,rants and raves. Just a place for me to get it all out of my system..

Location: Arkansas, United States

Monday, August 07, 2006

Public Restrooms

Subject: The Public Restroom
( I received this from another Linda and thought I would share it )
My mother was a fanatic about public restrooms. When I was
a little girl, she'd take me into the> stall, show me how 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.
Then 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. That
was a long time ago. Now, in my"mature" years, "The Stance"
is excruciatingly difficult to maintain.
When you have to visit a public bathroom, 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 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 were 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. That would
have to do. You crumple 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. The door hits your purse, which is hanging
around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your
purse topple backward 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, lose 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
firehose that somehow sucks everything down with such force
that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being
dragged in too.
At that 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 them.
A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of
toilet paper trailing from your shoe. ( Where was that
when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe,
plunk it 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 a public
restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains
to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their
other commonly asked question 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.


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home