I was minding my own business, that’s all I have to say. I was just walking down the hall and not bothering anyone. It was at that time I noticed that my hands were be-smudged with ink from a leaky pen. So, naturally, I went into the girls’ bathroom to wash them. I guess that was my first mistake.
As my eyes adjusted to the haze, I could dimly make out the sink, and, choking from the smoke, I staggered over. Working quickly, I turned on the water, but my hand-washing ambitions were dashed, for there was no soap to be found. I managed to get most of the ink off, then, and why should I think that this would be possible, tried to dry my hands. You girls know what happened, yup, no paper towels. Sigh. The paper towel dispenser, which looked like a crude Soviet jack-in-the-box, was old enough that it probably failed to dispense towels to Stalin himself. I wiped my hands on my pants, then ran off to class.
Little did I know that my early-morning cleanliness catastrophe would not be my last visit to the restroom that day. While changing after gym, I pulled my shirt over my head, thus generating enough static electricity to power the city of New York for a week. Scampering out of the locker room as the bell rang, I barely had time to duck into the bathroom to fix my hair in front of a mirror.
Fighting the clouds of smoke, and coughing so hard that I swear I saw a few dead relatives in the smog, I cleared the soot off the mirror, and proceeded to brush my hair. Needless to say, when I emerged from the restroom, I was saturated with smoke and emitting tobacco rays visible to the naked eye. Even better were the looks that I got from teachers as I wafted by. I swear, it’s like a fragrance; “Try new ‘Addiction’ from Calvin Kline, nothing says delinquent like the tobacco-rich smell of ‘Addiction’.”.
After lunch, most of the nicotine scent had left my hair and clothes, and I thought I had gone through the worst of my day. Not so. They shouldn’t make those soda so large, you know? So, in need of the facilities, I again found myself in the bathroom.
Why do the girls who smoke feel that they have just sooooo many more rights than the rest of us? There was a line for the two stalls with doors; one was in use, and the other was occupied by a smoker. The worst thing was, she was trying to pretend that she wasn’t doing anything but sanctioned bathroom activities. Bull hockey. There were clouds of smoke billowing out of the top of the stall. What did she think that we thought was going on? Was there a low-lying storm system in the first stall? Had she forgotten her lunch and decided to barbecue?
Finally, it was my turn to use the stall. Let me just say right now, there should be rules posted in the bathrooms or else open season on idiots. Perhaps I’m being caustic, but I’ll explain. If the door to a stall is closed, that might mean that there possibly could be a person using it. If there are feet under the door, that’s a pretty good indication that the stall is occupied. If you start to open the door, and you hear, “Hey!”, it’s not ventriloquism, someone’s in there.
See, I was once in a rest-stop bathroom when a young mother had to bring her two little girls and her five year-old boy into the women’s room. The tiny terror then proceeded to open the door to my stall(the lock was missing, of course). There I was, sitting on the facilities, and he actually said to me, “Oh, are you using this one?” No genius, I’m sitting here for my health. I was walking to Florida and got tired of standing. I’ve got a portable TV in here and I’m watching an R-rated movie. I’m catching up on my summer reading. Of course I’m using this stall, kid! But, I didn’t say any of those things, I just kicked the door shut and listened to the young mother apologize for her son from the other side of it.
Well, I was lucky that no one tried to enter the stall while I was using it, and then, once more reeking of stale cigarettes, I returned to fourth block. I guess the bathrooms we have are better than outhouses or a Johnny-On-The-Spot, but man, it’s becoming easier just not to use them at all. Ask anyone, even the smoker you sit next to. Oh wait, you’d better not, someone just brought back the bathroom pass, so hurry up; I’ve got it next.
