The Magical Bathroom Stall?
OK, so you guys are going to think I’m a freak — what else is new? — but things have happened this past week-ish that are simply too weird to be coincidental.
Things in a bathroom. But not-related-to-going-to-the-bathroom things. That’s why it’s weird.
I already love the bathroom, as you know. I have a deep appreciation for the Land of Sweet Release (LSR). And just when I thought it couldn’t get any more special, BAM! I go into my favorite stall, and what’s there on the floor?
Money. Moolah. Cold hard cash. The mean green. Dough. Scrilla.
On the floor. Just sitting there. Folded up exactly how I fold my money. Waiting just for me.
I quickly closed the door behind me, lest someone else see the treasure. I immediately felt guilty, trying to hoard someone’s loss, feeling some karmic retribution for this small trespass might befall me. I decided that, depending on the amount of said folded-up bill, I would report it to the property management company, who could subsequently blast a notification out to the tenants, only one of which would know the amount and last known whereabouts of said bill.
“It’s all good, Raegen. You’ll do the right thing,” I thought to myself. (Obviously — my name’s in there.)
Could the woman in the stall next to me see the treasure on the ground? I couldn’t tell. I waited until that door clicked opened. I heard her wash her hands and leave. I then bent down to claim my prize, which, in the end, was a small bill.
Still, in spite of its modest amount, I couldn’t help but feel that this was some weird stroke of luck. The amount wasn’t something anyone was going to cry over, so maybe certain tides were starting to turn for me that it was now mine, no harm, no foul.
This was two Fridays ago.
This past Tuesday, my theory was confirmed. I entered the LSR again, returning to my choice stall, as is my habit when it’s free. There on the floor, in nearly the same place as the money was, was a face-down business card.
This time I was alone. I closed the door and picked it up straightaway.
It was a man’s card, though I didn’t think that too strange, even though I was in the women’s restroom. It was what the card had on it — what this person did for a living — that made me think that I’d again received some sort of sign that my luck was changing, and for the better.
As I was thinking about how I’d found these items now just a few short days apart from each other when I’d been visiting this stall regularly for over a year and 10 months with nothing more to speak of except the occasional stray piece of TP or a streak on the side of the bowl, it occurred to me that perhaps, as Superman used a phone booth (look it up, Millennials) to change into his superhero garb and prepare to save the world, I was being given signs that this particular bathroom stall would serve some broader function, might be the place where the mystical forces of the world would bestow knowledge upon me, give me clues as to my higher purpose in life — at least for the time being.
I then recalled how, as a child, if I was having a nightmare, I would find a dream LSR, lock myself in it, and wake myself up out of my bad dream by focusing on doing so in the privacy and protection of my own stall.
Yeah. I know. It’s weird. (Whatever. You’re weird. Jerk.)
Even in my unconscious state, even at as early an age as I can remember — which would probably be around 3 — the LSR has been my safe haven.
And now, one particular stall of a real-life LSR is giving me magical signs.
Am I the only one?