Ahhh. This is the last restroom story, I swear.
I think the trend is that pooping gets me into trouble. A few summers ago my friends and I were on our way to Florida. It was an odd time in the morning when we pulled up to a practically empty rest area parking lot surrounded densely by woods. Dim light flickered from the stained glass street lamps. It was a pretty creepy set-up, but I had other things (or just one thing) on my mind. Kayla didn’t need to use the restroom and waited outside. The boys and I split off to do our business. Before dashing off to the women’s restroom, I saw an old man with an equally old looking sports jacket talking to himself next to the water fountain. I didn’t think much on it.
So once again I was back on the Seat of Vulnerability. I hadn’t been in there long when I heard a man’s voice. “Hello?” Oh, shit.
I froze in horror. “Is anybody here?” Then I saw the glimpse of a man’s hand through the stall crack. It was pale, vein-y, and not very well taken care of. A pale green sports jacket. “Oh goodness, it looks like I went into the wrong restroom…” Oh, no doubt about it. By his ending fluctuation plus the hint of withholding a giggle, he knew he was in the wrong restroom. There was something off about this guy.
Oh my god, what am I going to do? More importantly, what is he going to do? Murdered in a public restroom in the middle of the night. Asian Girl Found Dead in Public Stalls. Dear lord, that’s not the way I want to go out. Not while my friends were right there, anyway. I went through my options: A.) Try to kick ass and maybe win. B.) Scream, except my friends won’t be able to hear me.
Then someone came in and she must have made eye contact with the guy. “Oh, I seem to be in the wrong restroom…” he said hurriedly and walked out. Thank you, girl with the sneakers. Thank you.