Public Pooping Part One
At any public restroom, everyone understands the power of the handicap stall.
– Space – it’s not just about the size of the door, it’s also about the width of the ‘room’. And often there’s a place to hang your coat!
– Amenities – sometimes the handicap stall has its own sink. Perhaps a baby changing station that can carry your bags. And dare I say it… some have their own upgraded toilet tissue. (be still my heart)
– Cleanliness – Less use + more staff attention + (what I can only assume is human decency) = a cleaner space, all around.
– Wait Time – and perhaps the grand Poobah of handicap stall perks, little to no wait time.
You see, I’m a public pooper. Always have been. As long as I can remember, I don’t have an issue feeding the fish outside the confines of my home tank.
And over the years, I have observed a great many public restrooms, and have developed a great many opinions on the subject.
So many, that I’m going to need to break this blog into sections. Perhaps not a hard-hitting expose from a journalistic perspective. But a multi-part exploration, nonetheless.
In this Pulitzer nominated piece (foreshadowing), we’re going to cover some common issues & problems with the public porcelain, along with some experiences that have set the standard for those times when I just had to ‘catch up on some reading’.
Today I’ll leave you with one of my most memorable public Havana heaves. It was in an airport, I can’t quite remember which. Call it Charlotte. The queen city. (I almost made a reference to crowning).
Anyway…
I’m enjoying a good prairie dog in the aforementioned handicap stall, when, through the bottom of the door, I see the most horrifying site that a person in my position (at the time) can possibly see. Wheels.
Yes, those wheels. Hub, spoke & rubber. Exactly as if they were connected to, a wheelchair.
Instantly there’s (another) pain in my stomach.
Of all the times, in all the airports, in all the restrooms. I’m blocking access to the handicap stall, from someone who’s… handicapped. And I’m going to look like… a complete ass.
I mean, it is only public embarrassment. Is there a fine for something like this? When you’re wheelchair bound, is there a time limit on how long you can wait when you ‘gotta go’? I was mortified.
But then, something occurred to me.
Handicap stalls aren’t only for the handicap. They are built to accommodate wheelchairs, but that does not preclude bipeds.
So I started having a conversation in my head, for when the door opened.
“You know what? I have just as much right to this glorious stall as anyone. And while I’m sorry that you had to wait, I refuse to be ashamed of myself. I too, had to go.”
All that mental processing, in the blink of an eye… when I saw that wheel.
So, I finished decorating the oval office (as they say), and prepared myself to open the door. And as I did, what did I see?
The Janitor, with his cart.
You know, the cart that holds the big trashcan and has the big wheels. That look exactly like the wheels on a wheelchair.
Surprise. Relief. Reflection. Awkwardness.
The janitor and I made subtle eye contact, did the guy nod thing, and I was on my way.
In hindsight, not only did I launch the torpedoes, but a shot of adrenaline as well. One of my more memorable public poops.
More to come.
