Wednesday, January 04, 2006


Since I was a little kid, I've had a recurring dream which I like to call "The Bathroom Dream". I'll be chugging along, doing whatever I happen to be doing during a dream, when all of a sudden I find myself in a public bathroom - having to go. Typically it's a big bathroom - in some sort of locker room - and there are lots of stalls. But every time I go to a stall, I find that the toilet is unusable. Some are filthy and clogged up, some have no doors, and some have weird contraptions that don't even resemble toilets -- in retrospect, they kind of look like bidets or something.

A little while ago I developed a theory for the reason behind "The Bathroom Dream". I think that I probably really DO have to go to the bathroom. And my brilliant psyche and lazy body are somehow working together to keep me from actually getting out of bed to do so. Since I obviously can't be wetting the bed at 30 (albeit tempting), these two have devised "The Bathroom Dream" to trick my poor, stupid bladder from doing its job. In case you didn't already know it, the bladder is one of the the least intelligent organs. It's only slightly smarter than the liver, but only because the liver has endured so much abuse.

A second, somewhat - but not completely - unrelated story:

Today I took one of my infamous field trips during my prep period. Sometimes I have this driving need to just get the hell out of the building. I went over to the local WalMart to buy some little gag gifts to bring to my friend D's housewarming tomorrow night. This WalMart is user-friendly, with the bathrooms right by the door, and I had to pee.

It's become my preference to use the handicapped stall. I like the high toilet seat and the fact that the door opens OUT. But most of all, I like the space! Sometimes I dance in there - just because I can. Okay, not really... but I've thought about it. I tried the door of the hadicapped stall at the WalMart, but it was locked.


So I crammed my big, unhandicapped self into the small stall next door and was sitting there sulking, when all of a sudden:

"Can you help me?" A voice in a foreign accent asks from the handicapped stall.

My God! It's an emergency situation!! I am not prepared for something like this -- what if she's sick? Or suicidal? A million possibilities unfold in my imagination in the space of the 2 seconds it takes me to ask, "Uh..yeah?"

Pleaseohpleaseohplease don't make me have to pick up a naked, elderly, handicapped, foreign woman...

"I uh - where do you-a push? I do not know where do you-a push?"

It took me a minute. Then I realized she that she couldn't figure out how to flush. The automatic toilet.

Tragedy averted, sighs all around - I saved the day. We had a good chuckle about it at the automatic sinks and then parted ways. But she'll always remember me, and I her. It's a damn good thing I was in that WalMart today, my friends.

1 comment:

Sigmund Freud said...

(slowly and deliberately spoken)

Vun could say ... zhat za blocked toilet or odd toilet ... represents za stiflink of za impulse to be destructive [slightly rolled "r" in that word]. Zhat your impulse is to be destructive [roller "r" again] but zhere seems to be almozt impozzible for you to do zhis.

Zhis was very [rolled "r"] entertaining [forgot to roll the "r" there]!