When The Write Woman Needs Some Solace, “Don’t Go to the Library!” (343 Left)

It isn’t necessary to raise your hand right now, but just answer to yourself, how many times have you “used the restroom” just to take a break? Whether you’re at work and recently got off the phone with a taxing and never ending call, or your kids are driving you crazy (or spouse, sometimes the same thing). The point is, you sort of hope to have a bit of privacy, in even public facilities. Granted, it certainly won’t be the same as home with magazines to keep you company and the radio nearby, but still a moment to take a little itsy-bitsy interruption from reality.

The other day, at the public library, school studies combined with computer difficulty and teaching my son his studies became a bit much when a boisterous mother entered the picture. Her vocabulary didn’t seem to stretch over the four-letter limit as she “guided” her children where to go. Apparently she had no knowledge of the 440 race taking place where her young and giggling children were the stars. Unable to think clearly, I exited to enter the ladies room down the hall that has gorgeous artwork decorating the walls. A soothing transition—so soothing, I decided to use the restroom. I went to the end where the larger latrines are situated and decided a five-minute break would be just what the doctor ordered.

No sooner did I set my things down on the counter at the far end of the restroom to take my seat, than I heard another customer enter. Finding her throne, she made a call to someone she wasn’t particularly fond of. I decided to leave, but my body had other plans and I was going to be there awhile, unfortunately.

The woman grew angry and began using “extra-curricular” language quite loudly until she grasped she wasn’t alone by the acoustics and my bowels working in unison. I hoped she would be finished now and leave when I heard her say good-bye. I heard the sounds of her moving her purse around. That is until her phone rang and she answered it, angrier than ever. “Please, God,” I said loud enough for her to hear, “If you can hear me, give me strength.” 

There was a moment of silence until my phone began to ring. And it rang and rang, echoing louder each time because I had placed it so far away I couldn’t reach it. “Get your damned phone, (her favorite word)!” she said before returning to her conversation.

“I can’t, psycho!” I was in hell today. I couldn’t stand it anymore and finished up, grabbing my things and heading to the sinks to wash up. Then I heard her toilet flush and she came out, not at all the twenty-something I had imagined, but someone who'd recently been released from an institution. She gave me a look. It wasn’t a “I’m so happy to see you look,” as much as a “I’m a former roller-derby queen and I can still hold my own so don’t f*** with me” expression.

“How ‘bout those Falcons?” I said, concentrating on standing tall and thinking about what I wanted to do to her.

Without another word, she finished washing her hands and brushed past me as I completed my drying. The smell emanating from her was that of death. For the first time since I was a little kid, I found myself scared in the bathroom. Needless to say, I was happy to get back to the races by my computer with little kids screaming.