It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the epoch of stupidity, it was the epoch of my ass’ hysteria, it was the season they introduced self-flushing toilets.
I was very excited that I would no longer have to reach and hover over a toilet to flush it because Fun Fact: Germs and bacteria from a flush travel up to 10 feet. Which means, most of us are walking around with bum bacteria on our heads. You’re welcome, friends.
I did what I had to do a little hurriedly to test out the toilet. In my rush to pee (harder! Faster! Harder! Like a race car driver), I shifted forward by approximately 2 mm and the eager toilet flushed itself. Because I didn’t want everyone and their mother’s bacteria gently misting itself all over my ass, I instinctively flew up and forward, smashing my face into the washroom stall’s door, knocking off my glasses which ricocheted off of my foot and beyond reach outside of the washroom stall’s door. The Universe, she giggled.
Problem was, I wasn’t done peeing. Blind, terrified and vulnerable, with my bare bottom still exposed, I sat down to finish. Which I did without further incident. When I got up, the toilet did not flush itself. I imagine because it was suddenly shy and sad that it had finished too early, before I could properly get started. Instead of having a conversation about it, Eager Toilet decided to roll over and give me the silent treatment.
Now. Because I had never been exposed to a self-flushing toilet and because I was blind without glasses, I did not know, nor could I see that it had a manual fail-safe, so I stood quietly in the tiny space wondering what to do. I could hear other women outside the stall door and I was terrified of facing them while leaving behind an un-flushed toilet. If I had a scarf with me, I would have wrapped it over my face and ran out, knocking them all to the ground so no one could later identify me in the toilet bandit lineup. In a state of panic and creeping claustrophobia my mind finally started yelling SIT ON IT, so sit on it I did. With my pants on. I glided forward and back, to the right and to the left, and basically shook it all about. For a broad who doesn’t like the ass bacteria of strangers, I did a knock-up job of getting it onto my clothes as much and as deeply as possible.
Sadly, Eager Toilet was trying to prove a point and continued to give me the silent treatment.
I must have spent 5 minutes trying to flush it, forgetting to grab my glasses. I finally gave up, thinking “It’s just pee. And I am well hydrated and it’s super clear and I didn’t eat asparagus. I’ll just leave it.” Further, there were no more women in the washroom and I could creep out without being noticed. DON’T JUDGE ME.
As I was stepping out of the stall, a woman stepped into the washroom. As there were only two stalls, one of which had my un-flushed pee, I began sweating, feeling as though I were suddenly at the O.K. Corral, standing quiet waiting for the slightest movement. Neither one of us moved, so in my panic I did and in so doing, I kicked my glasses forward which is when I remembered that I was blind. I scampered quickly behind the glasses and she moved toward me, navigated around me and entered my stall. Not a second later, I heard it flush and with great devastation ruling my heart, I wondered why Eager Toilet hated me. Then I ran straight out of the washroom and the mall and right home to the shower.
I still think about that woman’s face and wonder if she has a site on which she has written about the local blind girl who doesn’t flush toilets.
For years, and with glasses on, I did not know these toilets had a fail-safe. Often, I would do my thing and then with pants/skirt/dress on, I would bounce around on the toilet until it flushed. Now I know, and you do too.
Moral of the story: That I don’t have Sensory Processing Disorder is beyond me.
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