Beware the Citizens of Pavlov.

So, I am entering the restroom at Kmart.

Note: That sentence is wrong on so many levels, yes.

But there seems to be something about Kmart that stimulates the bladder. Or the bowels, unfortunately. I have long surmised that the fluorescent lighting has some effect on the whole elimination process.

Note: I apologize for the plethora of bathroom posts, as of late. What am I? A seven year old boy?

So, I am entering the restroom at Kmart but I am nearly bowled over by a somewhat frantic, lanky woman in army boots, her fried blonde hair piled haphazardly on her head. She is dancing a bit on the tippy toes of her boots, holding herself, if you will, in a manner that makes it obvious that she's got to go. Real bad.

But the bathroom is busy.

Note: Darned fluorescent lighting.

Sorry, sorry she is saying in a distinctly heavy accent. German? Latvian? Pavlovian? I am hurry, she apologizes and darts into an open stall without bothering to close the door. She drops her pants which puddle at her army boots as she hovers over the toilet, sort of. Dude, I am thinking, are there no stall doors in Pavlov?

As I smash myself against a wall to avoid the spectacle, another patron walks in and aghast, smashes herself against a wall directly across from me. We make eye contact. Big, round freaked out eye contact. It is not smelling so great in here.

I can hear the clunk clunk clunk of the toilet roll spinning. Clunk, clunk, clunk.

How much of that stuff is she using? I wonder.

Then she speaks. Cud dey make dis toilet paper any theener?

Freaked Out Girl looks at me. In panic. Is the Pooping European in the Open Stall engaging us in conversation? Is she cracking jokes while sitting on the toilet? Really?

No, I am saying. Kmart has it specially made, just for them.

Why am I speaking? What is wrong with me? But The Pooping European laughs. Freaked Out Girl laughs. This is an easy audience, yes.

I finally dash into the next open stall and pee as fast as humanly possible while the Pooping European's toilet roll is clunk clunk clunking still and I am getting faint on account of holding my breath.

Nothing prepares me for what happens next. I emerge from the stall to wash my hands and run run run, as fast as the wind, yes.

The Pooping European is now standing near the sink, pants still puddled, somewhat. She is splashing water in her nether parts, somewhat and patting said area with more of that cheap toilet paper and I'm thinking Dude, this is a sink, not a bidet. Then The European looks up and sees me and proceeds to hold the tissue in such a manner as to be discreet, somewhat.

Oh, sorry, sorry she is saying in her heavy accent and I am probably looking like Freaked Out Girl and then several things become clear to me. Crystal clear, yes.

First, I will never use this bathroom again. Second, I need a shower. And my upcoming European travel plans will not include an excursion to Pavlov.

Sweet Holy Moses.



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