12/13/12

Eat Shit and Die

By: Lee Thomas Penn

-Son of-

Thomas Lee Penn

            A man walked in, invading the seclusion that was the empty public restroom. I could see his black loafers, his grey slacks, as he paused and contemplated at the door of the handicap stall – my handicap stall. My backpack was clearly visible underneath the stall door, placed there peremptorily on the dirty floor as a message to knockers. I could see a black dress shirt through the crack in the door.

            He did not, in fact, knock and took the tinier, business-class, stall next to mine. His belt buckle rang like a bell – “Lunch time, Mr. Toilet!”

            Is that rain?

            I could hear his tires deflating and his failed attempts to play the baritone. The man was giving live birth to a cluster of salamanders. The air grew warmer, heavier, as if beyond the thin wall of my little sanctuary was a chemical fire in an indoor pool.

            And as I stood there before my toilet, trying to hold my breath and pee at the same time, I tried not to think about chocolate soft-serve ice cream. Slipping and dripping down into a cone. With nuts. And a cherry on top for good measure.

            I think to myself, “Could you please keep it down over there? Could you limit your war machine to the 3-by-8 foot territory allotted to you and not encroach on mine? There are U.N. sanctions in place against nuclear fallout – it affects us all. Please, I’m trying to enjoy my bathroom experience.”

            In response, the man grunts and lets out a fart.

            I lost my appetite to urinate and stepped away from the toilet. The robot eye that watches everyone pee blinked and flushed the toilet.

            “Hey!” The man in the stall next to mine hollers. He sounds like he’s dealing with a lot. “Hey, could you pass me some – ungh – toilet paper?”

            You fucker. You sad sack of bacteria and gaseous food waste. I hope that you shit all over your nice clothes and knock your head on the toilet bowl, and then your wife has to come into the bathroom to look for you and finds you that way. I hope that you die, and worms and germs eat you and turn your body into shit. I’ll throw you into a septic tank and close the hatch!

            And then I really felt for that poor guy. We’re just two human beings – scared, alone, vulnerable – who will never fully understand each other. But, we’re still walking on parallel paths that start at birth and end at death, and every once in a while Life defecates all over us, whether it’s a car accident or Cancer or investing in a toilet stall that has no toilet paper. We’re all covered in feces. And maybe I’ll need someone to help clean me up someday – maybe we humans will get by better if we support each other, connect around our shared sufferings, and swallow our disgust for each other.

            “You’re feeling pretty helpless right now,” I said and removed the roll of toilet paper from the dispenser in my stall. I bent over and extended the roll underneath the barrier between the two stalls, the wall that kept us apart.

            “Yeah, thanks,” he said. He grasped the roll of toilet paper with his right hand and for a second his fingers closed over mine.

            His hand was wet.

            Why in God’s name was his hand wet?

            What is the matter with people?

            I hurried to the sink in a controlled run and washed my hands twice with soap and scalding water. I sighed and left while the stranger scraped away in his stall.