“I’m out of toilet paper.”
No response.
“Hello? Did you hear me?”
Not even the sound of footsteps.
“My ass is gonna go numb. Hello? Anyone?”
I hear the door to the restroom open but not the sound of anyone coming to my rescue or the door closing.
“I heard the door open. I know you’re there. Please bring me some toilet paper or paper towel.”
Still no response, I hear the faint drip-drip from the faucet outside the stall.
“This isn’t funny.” Maybe they don’t speak English, I think and use my best Spanish. “Necesito papel del sexo.”
I hear wet footsteps trod toward me and I see the shadow of someone approach but it stops. I cannot see feet from my angle under the metal wall and door. I jump from the sound of something wet colliding with the ceiling. A drop of something cold and wet lands on my head. I tilt my head back slightly. A wad of soaked toilet paper hangs above me. Is it tinted a light reddish color?
“What the hell?”
The wet footsteps come closer. I can see the shadow darker in the next stall but not the feet it is attached.
“Who’s out there? I’m calling the Police.”
I reach down to my pants around my ankles to pull out my cell phone. It’s not there. I lean from side-to-side. It’s in the stall the shadow stopped at. I cannot reach it from my position. I lean further forward, reaching under the stall wall. A purple gloved hand quickly snatches my cell phone from the floor.
“Shit.”
I contemplate my options. I do not see anything else to do. One leg at a time, I remove my pants and underwear. I put my pants back around my ankles and wipe with my most comfortable underwear before pulling my pants up the rest of the way. I hold my stained underwear carefully by the waistband and turn the stall lock with the other hand. As I step out of the stall I fling the underwear at the person standing in front of the next stall.
“No hay sexo en el baño,” the bathroom attendant yells at me; my soiled underwear fly high of him.
“What?” I ask and point to the empty toilet paper dispenser.
“Papel higiénico?” he says with a large grin.
I grab my cell phone from his hands and storm out of the restroom.
Read all the entries at Wakefield Mahon’s Blog.
