Bathroom Panic

Ok, I might be posting too many bathroom stories, but this one really cannot go untold.

This morning, I was standing in front of the humongous wall mirror in the bathroom here on the second floor. At that time of the morning there is usually a high amount of traffic, but today for some reason things were pretty slow.

I took my time applying my mascara and fixing my hair. (I know, I should be putting on makeup at home, but I say to you--at least I'm wearing makeup.)

When I entered the bathroom, I noticed two feet firmly planted in the deathly silent handicapped stall. I went about my business and didn't pay much attention until ten minutes later when they still had not moved.

This is when I started to panic.

"Oh, Lord," I thought. "She's dead. What the eff am I going to do if she's dead?"

I considered tapping on the door and asking if she was ok, but...come ON! How weird is that? Maybe she just wanted a little alone time and here I am, some freak, tapping on the door and interrupting her morning meditation. (I would be upset if I went in there for a little nap and got interrupted...not that I would EVER do that.) OR I might just tap on the door in time to save her life.

Immediately visions of me running, screaming from the bathroom; talking to the police behind yellow caution tape all red-faced and upset; and then heading home early for the day due to the shock flashed through my head.

Did she kill herself? Did she have a heart attack? Is she narcoleptic? Is she a man who walked in to the wrong bathroom and waiting for a chance to leave?

I was bracing myself for the worst when one of my friends came in. I hustled her outside and told her what was going on. She became very concerned and marched right into the bathroom to check out the firmly planted feet.

She looked at me and shrugged. Oh-so-helpful and reassuring.

By the time my friend had flushed the toilet, the handicapped toilet flushed.

I slammed my makeup back in my purse and ran for the door.