I cross my legginged legs together tightly, lean against the cold wall and tap the heal of my flip flop anxiously against the bottom of my own heel. Without getting too close to the door (I would hate for it to open on me and get caught eavesdropping on something so private) I try to listen for anything resembling a human being on the other side. An unrolling of the toilet paper or the click of a high heel on the linoleum floor.
Good gawd what is taking so long?
Actually, I most likely I know what’s taking so long and I’d rather not know.
Wait, did I even check the door? I’m pretty sure I checked. Let me check just one time.
“Just a moment please,” an annoyed, strained voice answers from the other side.
Again there is silence on the other side of the door. Not a good sign.
Oh man I have to pee!
To take my mind off my aching nether region, and because it has been 3.4 minutes since I have checked Twitter, I pull out out my fifth appendage and begin scrolling through my “mentions.”
Suddenly, I get an idea for a blog post, so I open my “notes” app and begin to type feverishly, all the while clenching my upper thighs together with the song “Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls” taunting me in the back of my mind.
My blog post flows out of my pointer finger. Then my thoughts drift back to my aching bladder that is pissed at me for waiting for so long to go.
I think I read somewhere that holding it causes incontinence. Damn, I shouldn’t have had that second Chai Tea.
Focus Mary, focus. Back to the blog post.
Finally, I hear a flush. Thank God!
I have no concept of how much time has passed, but it has been enough time that I was able to finish and entire blog post, this very blog post, while standing up, contracting my crotch muscles and wishing I had done a few more Kegels during my pregnancies.
The door opens and a woman resembling Phyllis Dyller emerges. I wonder if she is as hesitant to walk past me as I am to walk in.
We make awkward eye contact. Awk. Ward.
Then I ponder this: I’m not sure what is worse…
1) Waiting in line when you know the person on the inside is going number two and stinking the joint up?
2) Going number two, in a nasty public restroom, while someone anxiously waits outside the door, possibly overhearing things?
Under intense interrogation I would say #1, since not only does it mean I’ve had to hold my own bodily functions to the point of nausea, but then I’ve had to deal with the aftermath left by my predecessor. And a lot of times, it ain’t pretty.
Which side of the bathroom door would you rather be on?