This is not table talk. It really is not fodder for any decent conversation. Please do not try to start up some small talk with a stranger on the bus with this story, and do not try to impress your in-laws with this information.
Girl9 and I were living the dream, growling, "VACATION, BABY!" at each other and taking a small road trip to the north. We managed to cram in swimming on a lake, a wedding, a party, a birthday party, and the Big Ferris Wheel all in three days. We kept up our strength by eating at every opportunity. If there was no opportunity, we secretly snacked.
We had taken the Light Rail to the big city with our family and had our fun. In this context, "had our fun" means that some of us rode the Biggest Ferris Wheel on Earth while others trembled under it and gawked, and then we trotted to Red Robin and drank scores of lemonade. We took the train back to where the cars were parked, but as we neared the station, it became obvious that before driving all the way home (to play in a soccer game), we should make use of the public restroom at the Light Rail station. If you are eating, please stop reading immediately. Do not read any further to find out if we got off the train, or if we stepped in gum (that happened earlier to one of us, and the gum was BLUE), or if we made friends with the little kids across the aisle. Stop. Right. Now.
I knew that there was no way I could last through the 64 miles back to our house, so Girl9 and I burst out of the train, galloped down the steps (actually she bounded down the escalator) and race walked to the ladies' room, trying hard not to run over any old people. Ladies' room is really not an accurate name for what we found, as the atmosphere was certainly not refined and the occupant was definitely not well-spoken. We opened the door and entered a cloud of smoke. I am not being euphemistic here, it was a haze of cigarette smoke. The one stall was occupied. Girl9 bent down to check the occupant's feet. If you are of the female persuasion, you understand this. I cannot explain why it is important to do this, but it is. Girl9 later reported that the red-toenail-painted feet were in "bejeweled flip flop sandals". This is only important because later she was able to identify the culprit. Please push your small children away from the computer if they are reading over your shoulder.
Girl9 and I, having four X-chromosomes between us, have had plenty of bathroom experience and we settled ourselves for a short wait, standing properly out of the way of the entry door, and with pleasant expressions on our faces. It was difficult to keep my eyes from popping out when I heard the first expletive from the inside of the stall. Girl9 and I made eye contact, but standard etiquette dictated that we say nothing aloud. My back straightened and my ears perked up when the next profanities were promulgated, but that was after hearing a multitude of toilet paper being unwound and torn, perhaps even shredded (I didn't have a visual at that point). After the toilet had been flushed several times in a row, more oaths had been uttered, and enough ribbons of toilet paper were rent to make a mummy, I grabbed Girl9's hand and dragged her out. I assured her that I had a backup plan. No pun intended.
We were scurrying toward the parking lot, I in the lead with Girl9 plodding behind me, looking longingly back toward the station, when she said, "She's gone! There she is! She's out!" Knowing that she had previously made note of the feet inside the stall, I did an about face and we hustled back to that bathroom as if a swarm of bees were chasing us. Flinging open the door, we came to a halt. Two little girls blocked the doorway and sadly informed us that the bathroom "needed cleaning".
Girl9 was brave enough, or perhaps desperate enough, to venture inside. Pushing through the fog of smoke that lingered, she discovered the cause of the cursing, as well as the hot mess that remained as evidence. She reported that the single silver toilet was filled to the brim with toilet paper, and that any visible water was brownish yellow. There were toilet seat covers strewn all over the floor and enough toilet paper to supply a small family covered the ground. There was no mummy in sight.
Most Readers know what we did next, but there are a few of you who are asking, "Well? Did you get to use the bathroom?" Naive Reader, we would not have attempted to use that facility even if we had been wearing HazMat suits! I had a back up plan. After all, we were on VACATION, BABY!
