It has taken me months to be able to write of the traumatic event that happened to me in January. It took place on the jet that took us to Dallas for Reed's aircraft school. Flying wasn't the problem, I love to fly. The problem is the bathroom, airplane bathrooms. They're small. They're scary. And they're much in demand. It takes a certain amount of skill to calculate the ratio of passengers to potential bathroom users, total flight time versus "seatbelt" time, when you're not allowed to get up, and the length of time the beverage cart will block the aisle versus the post beverage service bathroom rush. Humility not being my strong suit, I consider myself quite good at pre-planning peeing. I could give seminars. I also refuse a caffeinated beverage on a plane, even when I am sleepy and would kill for a Diet Coke, because I might as well pour it directly into my bladder. That would throw off my whole schedule.
So I chose my moment. I sidled out of my window seat, walked down the narrow aisle, checked which tiny toilet said vacant, and went inside. But as I did what I came in for, I noticed the seat felt unusually cold and damp. That is because I was not sitting on the seat. The seat was up. I SAT ON AN AIRLINE TOILET WITH THE SEAT UP! I wanted to sterilize my legs or, at least, shower. But I was in an airplane bathroom. There was nothing I could do but go back to my seat as if nothing had happened and contemplate all the toxic things that could be crawling on my skin. It was too traumatic to talk about, and there are no support groups for survivors of toilet terror. I just had to shake it off. Next time I will add to my careful calculations--MAKE SURE THE SEAT IS DOWN!
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