There was a time I stopped in a Friendly's with my father on my way back to college and I had to pee wicked style. I was so thankful when we stopped for lunch. I ran in past the hostess and booked it to the bathrooms. The place was set up like a giant box, no real divider walls. The ladies room was locked. The men's room was locked. I was desperate. In between there was a handicapped bathroom with both men and women represented on the front. It was open and I went in. I turned the extremely flimsy lock and knew it wasn't an awesome piece of machinery. The bad news was that the handicapped toilet was about four football tosses away from the door. I could not hope to hold it shut. I tried to believe that the restaurant would of course make sure the handicapped souls that normally used this potty would have the privacy of a latched door.
I sat down. Four sodas unleashed. And then I looked up as a
confused old man stumbled in to the bathroom, door flung wide open. I
was able from my vantage point to look about half of the people eating
their lunch in the eyeballs while I peed. I was trapped. The old man
said nothing to me as I sat there. He looked from me, to the door
displaying the sign and back again. In my head I just started praying
that he would close the door. I really didn't care if he left or joined
me at that point. If he could just make the door stop being open. Lucky
me, he stumbled out and closed the door.
But I had to take a chance and wipe and put everything on. The
entire time, I knew I would have to commit to standing bottomless for
at least a few seconds when at any point someone could swing that door
open on my pasty behind.
Best yet, after flushed my dignity down the crapper and washed
up, my dad had already ordered. So I sat and had lunch with all the
people that had witnessed the show.