Verbal Diarrhea

I had a moment of cognitive dissonance today while in the bathroom of the Summit Woods Super Target. Since it was early on a Sunday morning, there weren't many people there and when I went into the restroom there was only one other person in a stall besides me. I went into my own stall, and I froze when I heard her voice talking loudly in the bathroom.

"Heeeyyyy....How are you?"

There's a lot of attention paid to the way guys panic and can't perform in restrooms when they're accosted by some gregarious individual at a urinal, but I think too little credence is given to the amount of effort a woman will put into muffling her own pee sounds, especially when she is trapped by a Bathroom Converser in the stall next to her. I'm pretty squeamish about bodily functions, so most of my life has been lived in a state of denial about possessing any sort of digestive system that actually results in waste being expelled in public areas. I have to achieve a Zen-like state of focus and concentration and acceptance of the fact that eventually I WILL have to pee in a Target in front of other women.

But when other women who happen to be complete strangers also sitting with their pants around their ankles and their hands folded in their laps and a prayer to God in their hearts asking please...please don't let anyone hear me pee...when those ladies decide they want to talk to ME? Well, that business just utterly freaks me the hell out. I mean, I kind of get it. Maybe if we all engage in nervous, loud conversation we can work together to achieve sort of a group-abnegation of our collective digestive systems. It's an admirable idea in theory, but it never, ever works that way.

So when this lady started talking to me, my bladder gave up any notion of ever being relieved, and mind went out of my happy place and into the dark barren land of WTF AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? A strangled sound akin to the sound a fox must make when it realizes its leg is caught in a trap and a man with a gun is smiling benevolently down at him escaped from my throat, and I managed to half-whisper, half-croak the words, "Are you saying hi to me?"

And for a brief second I was blissfully, radiantly happy when she didn't answer back. Strangely, though, she just kept talking so I peeked under the row of stalls to look for a third set of feet. Nothing. Just her scuffed blue Sketchers in the unit next to mine and no one else. And then, burgeoning in me was a slow, indelible sense of horror and outrage as I realized two very important facts about our situation:

1)The woman in the stall next to me in the public restroom of a retail store was on her cellphone

2)There was clear audible evidence that the woman WAS NOT IN THE RESTROOM JUST TO PEE

People, I am completely permissive of all sorts suspect behavior. Feel free to wear rubber clogs in the winter with wool socks. I will not judge. Put 1,200 dollar spinners on your 7,000 dollar car and Turtle Wax its exterior every Wednesday afternoon while you smoke Swischer Sweets and check out the 12 year old girls sitting on the curb because you don't have a job. You're skeevy, but still above my censure.

But there are just some things I will not stand for in this society. You should never beat your children in the petfood aisle of a Wal-Mart. You should never be rude to waiters and waitresses. If you are a man, you should never cross your knees and then loop your foot around your stationary leg. And you should never, ever, ever in any circumstances HOLD A CELL PHONE CONVERSATION WHILE YOU ARE TAKING A CRAP IN PUBLIC.

So as I was leaving the restroom, I decided to exact some sort of passive-aggressive revenge and went back to my stall and flushed the toilet three very loud, lengthy times, so at least the person on the other end of the phone could figure out what was going on and would be as disgusted and outraged as I was. As I was washing my hands and pushing open the door I heard the woman titter and say "Sounds like the girl next must have had some tummy troubles today."

Urgh.