A Brief Foray Into a Foreign Bathroom

So I walk into what is quite possibly the most ghetto Wal-Mart in the country the other night, with Summer and Baby in tow. This is the type of store where the poor re-stockers just can't keep up with the thousands of thoughtless customers who pick something out (say, a stick of deodorant), change their mind, and put it on a shelf in a completely different section (say, electronics). Hence, if you want a box of crackers, you need to reach around a camp stove and a package of Spanx first (no, I don't know how to spell Spanx).

It was in this Wal-Mart that I got myself into the biggest pickle any of us had ever seen (Sandlot reference). I felt a rumbly in the ol' tumbly, so I made my way over to the bathroom, doing my best not to make eye contact with any of the other frightening, bemulleted customers. Once inside, I checked the feet situation in the stalls. All were occupied. Sigh. I ambled around a little bit, went to the mirror to check if the sunburn on my nose was peeling, sent a text message, and leaned against the wall to wait. I looked to my left, and there was a metal dispenser thingy, not uncommon in movie theater or bar bathrooms, but rare in a Wal-mart. Curious, I stepped over to see what its contents were. Would it be cologne? Aspirin? Possibly condoms? (Weird, I know, but certain venues do carry condoms in the bathrooms, most likely so they can be prepared in the event that Ben Roethlisburger stops by). But no. Alas. It carried sanitary napkins and tampons.

I was horrified. I looked around. No urinals. That should have been my first clue. Also, the bathroom was surprisingly clean -- no paper towels on the sink, no graffiti on the walls. And what was with the easy chair and the little end table by the door?? I should've known!

The flush of a toilet snapped me out of my reverie. I had to get out, and fast. I heard someone fumbling with a latch. I quickly turned around and zoomed out of there at about mach 5, trying not to look like the creep who just spent 5 minutes hanging out in the women's bathroom, twiddling his thumbs.

I forgot all about my rumbly tumbly. I couldn't feel my hands. I thought that any second some lady would scream, "There he is! That's the pervert who snuck into the women's bathroom!" and the security guards would come tackle me. I ran to the baby section and found Summer, who noticed I was out of breath, shrugged, and filed it away as another demonstration of my overall weirdness, and nothing more. My secret was safe.

Until now.

Why did I pick such a public place to reveal this incident? Because I want you all to take it as a cautionary tale. Pay attention to your surroundings. If you walk into the bathroom and everything seems backwards, something's probably wrong. If you are a woman and you encounter a bathroom where the stalls are all dented, as if they've been kicked by a horse, turn around and walk out. If you are a man, and you discover a restroom where there is no pee on the seats or the floor, you're most likely in the wrong place. GET OUT NOW. Save yourself the embarrassment. Unless you're Ben Roethlisburger, in which case you probably know exactly what you're doing.

Sean