The dance
At what point does the brain decide that the time to go is right then? For me, this is one of the most harrowing experiences I have ever had.
I was visiting the Smithsonian Air and space museum in Washington, DC and we had made the mistake (my mistake) of having Kentucky Fried Chicken for lunch. The reason it is such a disastrous mistake is (as I found out later) I am allergic to the K-F-C.
So, here I am walking around the museum and I realize that I need to head to the facilities. Normally, I can hold back and continue on for a good hour. But this was the allergy buildup. A sudden sharp pain striking my abdomen, the gas buildup in the intestines, I know this was turning ugly in a hurry. But I am a guy and I can keep my cool. I explain to the wife that I will return shortly and begin my quest.
I walk to the IMAX theater close by and ask for directions to the restroom. I can feel the sweat start to break on my forehead and my knees start to weaken. After she explains to me that the restrooms are on the upper level, I quickly think out every scenario to as quickly as possible, get to the upper level and enter and sit.
The stairs. The stairs are painstakingly high when you are holding back what could be considered the top blowing off of Mount St. Helens. I take them in twos just to reduce the numbers of steps and the amount of time.
I then spot the restroom entrance in the middle of the hallway and break the Olympic walking record to the finish line. I reach the entrance only to see the dreaded line. The line from hell. A line of 8 men waiting for a stall. I had to double check to see if this was really the women’s room. The men’s room NEVER has a line for the stalls. How could this be?
So, I wait. 1 down. I dance the dance, bending over, tippy toes, left, right, left, bending over, I can’t stand this. Where did we learn this dance? When we have such a need to actually stand still, we swing, disco, foxtrot, tootsie roll, whatever it takes to keep moving. So I stood in the congo line of grown men awaiting my turn for the open stall.
If all of them don’t empty soon, I am going to make the bathroom floor a color other than gray. I am nearly doubled over at this point because the pain and pressure are so great. 1 more empties and I commit the biggest taboo in bathroom etiquette. I walk around the first guy in line and grab the stall.
Of course the guy who I am sure has been waiting for an hour begins to object, but I don’t care. This was about survival and I was not going to make it any longer. I one swift motion, I am closing the door, pulling down pants and sitting down. As my butt hits the seat, the loudest, grossest avalanche begins. I moan in relief. The man who was raising the objection hollers out “never mind! I can wait.”
Not even two minutes later, I am out of there. The men in line (same men) look at me like I had just died with that white gaze. I washed my hands and back to the wife and kids.
This brings me to my point (as I almost always have one). Why in the world would they build a building with that many visitors and not have 1) bathrooms on the first floor and 2) enough stalls? Why do people get so upset when someone HAS to cut in line? Maybe they just have no choice.
Have you ever been to the point you would commit a taboo to prevent a catastrophe?
I was visiting the Smithsonian Air and space museum in Washington, DC and we had made the mistake (my mistake) of having Kentucky Fried Chicken for lunch. The reason it is such a disastrous mistake is (as I found out later) I am allergic to the K-F-C.
So, here I am walking around the museum and I realize that I need to head to the facilities. Normally, I can hold back and continue on for a good hour. But this was the allergy buildup. A sudden sharp pain striking my abdomen, the gas buildup in the intestines, I know this was turning ugly in a hurry. But I am a guy and I can keep my cool. I explain to the wife that I will return shortly and begin my quest.
I walk to the IMAX theater close by and ask for directions to the restroom. I can feel the sweat start to break on my forehead and my knees start to weaken. After she explains to me that the restrooms are on the upper level, I quickly think out every scenario to as quickly as possible, get to the upper level and enter and sit.
The stairs. The stairs are painstakingly high when you are holding back what could be considered the top blowing off of Mount St. Helens. I take them in twos just to reduce the numbers of steps and the amount of time.
I then spot the restroom entrance in the middle of the hallway and break the Olympic walking record to the finish line. I reach the entrance only to see the dreaded line. The line from hell. A line of 8 men waiting for a stall. I had to double check to see if this was really the women’s room. The men’s room NEVER has a line for the stalls. How could this be?
So, I wait. 1 down. I dance the dance, bending over, tippy toes, left, right, left, bending over, I can’t stand this. Where did we learn this dance? When we have such a need to actually stand still, we swing, disco, foxtrot, tootsie roll, whatever it takes to keep moving. So I stood in the congo line of grown men awaiting my turn for the open stall.
If all of them don’t empty soon, I am going to make the bathroom floor a color other than gray. I am nearly doubled over at this point because the pain and pressure are so great. 1 more empties and I commit the biggest taboo in bathroom etiquette. I walk around the first guy in line and grab the stall.
Of course the guy who I am sure has been waiting for an hour begins to object, but I don’t care. This was about survival and I was not going to make it any longer. I one swift motion, I am closing the door, pulling down pants and sitting down. As my butt hits the seat, the loudest, grossest avalanche begins. I moan in relief. The man who was raising the objection hollers out “never mind! I can wait.”
Not even two minutes later, I am out of there. The men in line (same men) look at me like I had just died with that white gaze. I washed my hands and back to the wife and kids.
This brings me to my point (as I almost always have one). Why in the world would they build a building with that many visitors and not have 1) bathrooms on the first floor and 2) enough stalls? Why do people get so upset when someone HAS to cut in line? Maybe they just have no choice.
Have you ever been to the point you would commit a taboo to prevent a catastrophe?
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