“I hope she has explosive diarrhea and nothing to use for wiping.”
Muttering to myself, I walked to the register. I was just out of college, living with two roommates, and begrudgingly purchased toilet paper for the umpteenth time. The person whose turn it was always “forgot” to buy it for our shared bathroom. Was she lazy, forgetful, unorganized, selfish, or dare I say, resourceful? I couldn’t decide.
All I know was that fifteen minutes earlier, when I arrived home from work that day and approached the front door, the fact that I needed to pee transformed into a desperate, dancing-before-the-door plea to get the key in the lock before it was too late. Dropping my purse just inside the door, I ran down the hall, 25-yard dash style, toward the bathroom. This race would have been graceful, except my hand was in my crotch, so it was a swift hobble as I was trying to out-pace the pending arrival urgently making its presence known. Now on the toilet and triumphant having won the race, I then discovered that I’d need to drip-dry like a concert attendee in a port-a-potty. The sprint now biathlon, I shuffled back down the hall, pants around my ankles, looking in all directions to be sure I was still alone. I finally arrived in the bathroom of my second roommate, where I borrowed some squares. This footrace is what lead me to curse my bathroom-sharing roommate with poohing in her pants.
A Pattern Emerged
When I lived with this particular roommate, there were several other instances where she avoided paying for something. An example, after chewing her third mouthful of a tasty dish, the bill arrived, and she scanned the check, then remarking of said dish, “I didn’t order that, so here’s what I owe.” My favorite was when she occasionally asked, “what are you doing tomorrow?” to which, the first time I answered, “who knows — not much,” followed by her asking, “can you take me to the airport?” Apparently, I was a slow learner because I fell for this many times. Eventually, I learned to say I was buying toilet paper every time she inquired about my schedule.
Curiosity Is a Good Thing
While waiting for my son to finish soccer practice the other day, I couldn’t help but smile at the now running sprinklers on a portion of the field and the boys daring each other to stick their faces in it. Another parent pulled up, wedging their SUV next to mine. I could only see her from the shoulders up and noticed she was bent over, rooting around in what I assumed was her purse. Soccer practice didn’t capture my attention that day; my phone was charging, and, to be honest, I’m considering going pro in people-watching.
I Am a Public Transportation Survivor
Having been a public transportation rider for more years than I care to count means I’ve seen it all. My paid fare gave me entrance to crowded cars with crabby commuters. It gave me the “honor” of standing close to strangers with extra hands. Being shorter than most means I’ve stood, barely grasping the strap above my head to keep from falling over, with my nose at the same level as other people’s deodorant-lacking armpits. I’ve sat in front-row, stained seats, and watched the show of two people, both wearing sound-canceling earphones, loudly commentating on the quality of the mustachoed advertising hanging on the walls. As part of a team of travelers, I’ve ignored the cameos of drug users shooting up several seats away and Shakespearean panhandlers telling their tales of woe. My commuting games included counting the number of vowels on each sign, guessing the occupation of travelers, or the location of people’s secret rendevous.
Nice to See You Again
Sitting in the parking lot was a piece of cake. Here I was, luxuriating in a clean seat with no threat of lice or pick-pocketers, chewing gum as loudly as I pleased. Prepared to make up stories, I needed to steal glances at my neighbor, who was currently looking in her rearview mirror, flossing her teeth. I often admire people who have no shame in their activities and go about their lives, confidently defying cultural norms. Good for them. So, when she exited her car, floss still in hand, I watched her walk purposely toward the field and the still-running sprinklers. Once on the field, she held her freshly used floss in her left hand, immersing it in the water, running her fingers across the waxy thread with her right hand to ensure the floss was free of food particles. Now finished with the laundering process, she took several strides back to her car, still grasping the floss at one end while it air-dried. I noticed her smirk as we made eye contact before she settled back into her car, looking down at her imaginary purse and placing the floss back to where she had previously fished it. We had never met before, but I recognized her immediately, that rare breed who is cheap for sport.
*Please note this is satire and not based on any real persons or events!
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