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I call them inhabitants because it always seems to be the same person in every public washroom I use.

I try to avoid using public washrooms at all costs, but sometimes when you gotta go, you gotta go. After eating a super soft taco from Taco Time in the mall’s food court, there ain’t nothing gonna hold that in after an hour or two.

So anyway, off to the washroom I go. Sometimes at a very fast pace.

It never fails that there’s always someone already doing their number when you first get in there. I always find it fascinating that most women’s washrooms have the appearance that they’re feminine and clean, but that godawful smell that hits you when you walk in brings you back to reality and turns it into nothing but a dumping ground. Hehe, I enjoy my clever puns. Don’t you?

So I pick a stall. I try to pick one that doesn’t look too disgusting, and is also a safe distance from any other occupants. Sometimes this involves bending over a little bit to see if I can see any feet under the stall door. I hope I’m not that only one that does this…

So I’ve picked my stall. I’m going about my business as stealthily as possible when Public Washroom Inhabitant (PWI) comes in and chooses the stall next to me. She then proceeds to go about her business in the loudest way possible. She grunts and groans and makes satisfactory noises when she’s done. Lady, is this really necessary!? Really?

It’s especially horrible when I have my kid with me and she asks me what those funny noises are coming from the next stall. Never have I been so thankful that there are steel walls separating each toilet. I always worry however that they’ll recognize my shoes after I come out to wash my hands. In those cases, I book it as fast as I can. Yes, I know I’m strange.

What really gets me is when PWI comes out after her shit storm and proceeds to make small talk with me while I’m washing my hands. Dude, don’t talk to me after you just did what you did. Leave me alone since I’m trying to escape in horror as fast as possible.

Also, PWI, next time maybe consider bringing in a newspaper with you and rustling through the pages to at least attempt to cover up your disgusting noises. There’s nothing worse than hearing someone else’s turds plopping in the toilet.

Now I’ve ruined my appetite. I’m sorry if I ruined yours too. I should have warned you.

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Uncategorized | RSS 2.0 | comment | trackback > posted on Monday, June 16th, 2008.