By Neena Strichart,
Publisher
My friend Denise sent me this essay decrying the plight of women in public restrooms. When I read it I laughed so hard I nearly cried. After visiting a theme park a couple of weeks ago and experiencing some of what is mentioned below, I figure she must be psychic. Enjoy!
As a woman, when you need to visit a public bathroom, you resign yourself to the long line ahead. Once it’s your turn, you wait for a stall door to open then rush in practically knocking down the woman exiting the small enclosure. You enter and discover the door won’t latch. It makes no difference; the wait has been so long you can’t worry about such trivial matters. The dispenser for the seat covers is empty. No time to worry about that either. You go to hang your purse on the door hook that isn’t there–knowing the floor is a no-no you quickly drape it around your neck, yank down your pants and assume “the stance.”
To take your mind off your vulnerable position–and to move the situation along, you reach for what turns out to be the inevitably empty toilet paper dispenser. A-ha, you remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday–the one that’s still in your purse–around your neck.
Just about that time, a lady in need pushes on the door and it opens because the latch doesn’t work. The door hits your head and you topple backward against the tank of the toilet. You scream, “someone’s in here!” While reaching for the door, you drop your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the unshielded toilet seat. It is wet of course. You bolt up even though you know the damage is done. Your bare behind has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form. You know your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you’re certain her backside never touched an unprotected public toilet seat.
At this point, you give up. You’re exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then skulk out to the sinks–which by the way–have run out of both soap and paper towels. You then walk out the door in utter defeat.
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used, and left the men’s restroom. Annoyed, he asks, “What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?”
Ed. note: Men–now you know why women visit the restroom in pairs. It’s not to talk about you–it’s so one gal can hold the door for the other, hang onto her purse, and hand her Kleenex under the door!
