I’m flying home from Nashville alone today. Jeff is off on his man adventure–touring down the west coast in a hearse with 4 other guys on the Porn Kills Tour. (So cool!) I landed in Cincinnati with a 4-hour layover before my flight to Seattle. After a lovely lunch with friends, I went to the restroom. Walking down the terminal, I immediately turned right when I saw the bathroom sign. I headed straight for the nearest stall. While spending time on the royal throne, I started to notice it smelled a bit strange. Hmmm.
I sniffed some more. Pee. It smells like pee. That’s odd. I mean obviously it’s a bathroom, but I’ve never smelled pee so strongly before. When I got up, I noticed there were little pee spots around the toilet.
“That’s weird. How can someone miss like that?”
I came out and noticed there was graffiti on the hand dryer.
“Man, Cincinnati is off its game a bit on the bathroom situation.”
Walking over to the sink, I washed my hands and started to check myself out—you know-bump up the hair a bit, check the teethe, apply lip gloss.
I saw a person enter the bathroom in the mirror, and realized it was a man. He turned and looked at me. I smiled.
“Oh man. Poor guy. He’s in the wrong bathroom.”
I continued my routine.
I noticed another man in the mirror. He shot me a strange look. They both were looking at me now.
Then it hit me.
My stomach dropped. My cheeks turned rosy red. My heart stopped. Really. I think it stopped.
I grabbed my bag and coat and booked it out of there.
Still in disbelief, I thought it was a mistake. There’s no way. I mean, I’ve had moments where I’ve been close to walking into the men’s restroom, but I’ve always caught myself before the dooming event.
I looked up slowly.
I walked away hurriedly. Maybe no one saw me?
Besides those two men.