Taking Care of Business

The bathroom is my bitch lover. Whether I'm home or out, the bathroom is where I find sweet relief from everything that is going on around me. When the room is spinning and I drank way to much, I find solace in the bathroom. I hear my name being called from my boss's office at my internship but no one can find me, I'm in the loo. If I have a bad day at my retail job, I hit the head. Even if it's just to wash my hands, the water closet is a safe zone. When I'm on the floor at Pottery Barn, I will wash my hands until they are cracked and bleeding, but no customer would dare to knock on the door and interrupt me.

Like with every passionate relationship, the bathroom comes with a host of quirks and baggage that need to be handled with sensitivity. I like to think I have mastered most encounters but every once in a while, it throws me for a loop.

Last Friday night and Holly and I were pounding $3 beers at a bar in the Lower East Side when I threw my bag into her lap and rushed down the steep stairs to the bathroom.

I had to go so badly and it was really satisfying to sit down for the first time since I had gotten to work around 9:00am that morning and pee. But when I tried to flush the toilet, it wouldnt flush. A moment of hesitation on my part had been made when I reached for the handle. Had the sensitive filly of the bathroom noticed my trepidation?

I went over my options in my head. A second flush would be the obvious choice although everyone else in the bathroom would hear it and know that I had clogged the toilet or done something WORSE. I could lift the top of the toilet off and investigate but again, that would draw too much attention to my cause. I could leave it but the person who came in after me would know what I had done and worse, know what I looked like.

I waited, frozen, for the last person to finish washing their hands and bolted for the door. I let some water drip on my hands on the way out, but I admit, it was not a thorough washing job. I escaped from the room an instant before the other stall door opened. My identity was preserved.

I tried to sit back down and enjoy my beer but I couldn't focus. Holly told me a hilarious story about her brother and I halfheartedly laughed-- my mind was still in the bathroom. Did I really clog the toilet or was I just an innocent accessory in a crime that occurred long before my time? I wondered if the water was still running in the bowl. Maybe if I had jiggled the handle... a myriad of second thoughts ran through my mind as I tumbled the sequence of events over and over again. At this point i had completely stopped paying attention to Holly and was watching the bathroom door intently, judging each person as they left. Did the have the same guilt stricken look I had?

I was considering going to Home Depot, buying a plunger and coming back to investigate when I decided it was time to share my guilt. I interrupted Holly's description of her work day to ask her about the toilet, if it had been clogged when she went to the bathroom too. She thought for a minute and said that it had. Unlike me, she had not given it a second thought, just blamed it on a previous user and gone on her way. She pointed out that because of my over analytical personality led me to become preoccupied in small, menial things. She told me I was being controlling and to lighten up.

I think I just care too much.

There are two kinds of people in this world.

There are two kinds of people in this world: the huggers and non huggers. I fall into the latter category and I am comfortable with that lifestyle choice. It has the obvious benefits of not compelling me to grind pelvises with casual and although it can increase tension at family gatherings, it is completely worth it 95% of the time.

Opon first meetings people often come away thinking I am cold and introverted. Au contrair however it takes more than a coffee for my true colors to shine. This gives me an air of mystery. I like to think that at least.

The non hugging tends to be a rule I apply to most physical interaction. I also don't let my hands brush casually against people on the train and being a skinny person allows me to avoid further contact once I'm seated.

While people with my condition can make acceptions to the rule in, say a crowded train, these are few and far between and certainly don't apply outside of New York city.

Take the bolt bus for example. You pay your 19 dollars and you get a giant seat, wifi, and your own outlet. You don't consider it a bonus that your seatmate is a 125lb female. You don't get to take the remaining 4 inches in her seat as exea room for your fat ass. You don't get to rest your sweatpanted / ugged leg against her and crush your arms into her side while you shuffle your iPod. One would think that you would notice your seatmate smooshed against the window curled around her purse, frantically texting everyone she knows about you and plotting to choke you to death with your headphones as soon as you fall asleep. Because, bitch, don't think she won't. She is a woman on the edge. Also, when the bus stops at an Arby's in Connecticut, and your now very flat seatmate locates the armrest and puts it down to fend off your huge ass/thigh/entire right side, do not come back and put your entire arm over it into her lap while you adjust your computer. That is just plain rude.

So non-huggers: when you find yourself in this awkward situation (and invariably you will) be the bigger person. Instead of being a bitch and asking the fatty to move, simply pull our your iPhone and begin watching softcore lesbian porn on the bus' free wifi. Loudly. And good luck in this dog-eat-dog world!