Trapped in the Bathroom Stall! a Germ Freak's Journey into Hell

Johnny reached for the Windex. The cold, white plastic seat was spotted with unknown substance of undetectable color. Thank God for the Windex. Although upon further inspection, it was difficult to tell exactly what the cleaning agent was in the smelly blue liquid, but it no longer mattered. Johnny had to go.

He reached for the paper towels and pulled. Whoever was getting paid at the paper towel factory to perforate the sheets should be fired, he thought angrily as half the roll spun out onto the floor. He sneered at that filthy floor with its tiny little agents of illness - crawling just beyond the human sight capacity. Johnny grit his teeth, took the end of the roll in both hands, and attempted to tear neatly, but to no avail. The sheet ripped in half. There should have been a neat square in his hands, but instead there was only a ragged half sheet, torn into an unrecognizable mess. It had to do for now. Johnny had to go.

A burst of noise and wind rushed into the somewhat peaceful room as a man with less withholding slammed the door of his own stall and dropped his pants. Johnny held back a surge of dry heaving as the man sat on the un-cleaned seat in the aluminum box next to his. Before long, it became all too personal.

Johnny wished that they would just make individual bathrooms. Being able to see the stranger's hairy calves under the open slat was not comforting, as whoever had designed such an abominable place of extreme duress (for Johnny) must have intended. The same firm may be taking up how to design a more "humane" slaughter house, or unoffending prison cell. The "stall" was a torture device.

As he folded the paper towel and laid it around the plastic seat for padding, he tried his best not to hear his neighbor's grunts and heavy breathing. Johnny pulled his pants down gingerly, as if there were some hidden audience yet to reveal itself, and lowered himself to the bowl.

Still cold through the cheap paper buffer, he twitched with sickness and bit his lip. I can get through this, he thought to himself, just a few more moments. The rumbling in his lower abdomen had ceased and he worried if he was acting in haste. What if he didn't need to go anymore? He'd put so much time and effort in, he would hate to walk away a failure. This had to happen.

As the noisy (and quite aromatic) neighbor was finishing up, his feet turned towards the bowl, now, Johnny held off until solace could creep back into the multi-unit lavatory. There was no need to let go while this ogre was still hovering, no need to expose himself that way. The echo of squeaky sneakers was sharp like a knife to Johnny's ears, especially since there was obviously no flush, no trip to the sink, and no final wash before heading back out into the real world.

Johnny had had enough. His rumbling abdomen began to campaign again, this time full force, his thoughts of that man going back out into the hallway and possibly touching anything on the walls, shaking someone's hand, or even worse - touching all the doorknobs to the outside.

Well at least I'm all alone in here, he thought, a smile creeping to his lips. He finally relaxed enough to allow nature to take its course. Ahhhhhhh.

He rose up out of his body and floated around the room. He floated through the ceiling, through the roof, and into the sky. He lingered among the clouds, free and clear of all anxiety. Johnny was at peace.

"Hey don't take all day, buddy!" A voice woke him out of his daze.

It was a stranger.

Johnny checked the open slat next to him. Legs. Someone had snuck in while he flew through the clouds and ruined his sanctuary. A second assailant stood outside his door. These two maniacs had trampled his utopia and were now pressuring him to hurry and leave this place he'd worked so hard to come to grips with.

Just then, the rumbling returned for a follow up bout. Johnny froze (on the outside) while reaching for the inevitable cleanup. His eyes pounded with sudden panic. He did not see a fluffy white roll of tissue paper, awaiting his liberal usage.

There was nothing but an empty cardboard roll.

"Come on, man, let's go, I'm dying out here! I'm about to use the sink!" The stranger growled. Johnny surged with dry heaves at the thought and his erratic breathing took in strong pulls of his new neighbor's "work" in the stall next door. He clawed at the empty toilet paper roll and a tear formed in his right eye.

I'm in hell, he thought. And he was right.