Monday, February 19, 2007

Horror Story

I somehow wind up with the most horrible bathroom stories, like the time I had to stand above a porcelain hole in the ground in the shadow of the Duomo to "make bears" and ran out of the toilet paper I paid for. Or there's the time I went to kung fu class in Plummer Park and discovered that someone used their poop to write on the walls of the bathroom. And let's not forget the gas station bathroom I used Friday where I had to stand since the toilet seat had seen several "golden showers" and I wasn't about to wipe it off, all the while the bathroom lights kept turning on and off because I wasn't moving around enough for the motion sensor. I never set out to collect up these horror stories, but I seem to have a knack for it.

Saturday night I had the second performance of "Dead Beat Poets' Society: Bitter Love" at my theatre. We spent the day before at the nude beach and I was still rehydrating myself so I downed a big bottle of water before the show. After the show, I ran downstairs to empty my bladder before visiting with friends and cleaning up the theatre. Now, this theatre is in the old parish hall of a church and the bathrooms we use on show nights are part of a day care by day. When the kids are there, we can't use those bathrooms. I've been sent to the bathroom below the stage, which also serves as a paper storage closet. I've used this bathroom countless times after my initial protest that there were urinals on the walls because it was the only bathroom I knew we could always use. Someone convinced me that it was okay months ago.

Okay, so I ran down the stairs and walked into the bathroom to find a fellow theatre mate facing a urinal on the back wall. I'm sure he was surprised that I walked in. The rest was a bit of a blur, mostly because I didn't expect to find a unisex bathroom here, but whatever. From what I recall, I apologized for startling him but I really had to pee. I darted into the stall and we exchanged a couple words as my stream began. Somewhere in the middle, he mentioned that it was the boys' bathroom. Gee, I didn't catch the ladies' room on the tour. I was in such shock that I finished peeing and some other words spilled from my mouth. I came out to wash my hands and he was gone. I didn't see anything, but it was really awkward.

Why can't I have stories about finding large wads of unclaimed and unmissed cash everywhere I go? Why do they have to be horror stories in the can?

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