The morning ritual of a hot beverage usually gets things moving. When my Mom was alive, anytime we chatted on the phone that would send me flying to the bathroom. My elderly aunt informed me, after Mom passed away, that I was toilet trained at 11 months old.
This past weekend Donna and I along with 298 aspiring writers attended an awesome Writer’s Workshop put on by Hay House in Orlando.
Saturday morning at 6:30 am, a tray arrived with a gleaming stainless coffee pot which contained enough for two cups each. Room Service is such an indulgence, but worth every penny. By 8:30 a.m., with all our morning “rituals” completed, off we went to register for the conference. Within minutes of entering the room, we had our pictures taken with Reid Tracy the CEO of Hay House and Mike Dooley a popular published author. On a table sat carafes of coffee and tea ready and waiting for the attendees. Usually, two cups are my limit, but this was too tempting to pass up. I poured a full cup of the dark roast and took an aisle seat.
Our first speaker was Mike Dooley. Donna and I both love his daily “Notes from the Universe”. In his funny upbeat way, he had our full attention as he explained his struggles on the way to success. I felt a few twinges in my stomach but totally ignored them as I had ticked that off the list. After another five minutes, there was no doubt that I had better get to the washroom. Our ballroom was at the very end so I walked real fast past four larger ballrooms on a mission.
On entering, I urgently assessed the washroom, 15 doors on each side, I proceeded directly to #15, the last stall on the right. Evidently, it had just been cleaned and the toilet paper was still shaped in a V. Just as I was digging in my purse for my Poo Poo Pouri, I saw feet go by to the last door on the left! Darn, I must have a fellow pooper and no Poo Poo Pouri, I had left it in the hotel ensuite. Where was the “purse hook”? Nowhere to be found so I sling my brand new purse around my neck. This was not a pretty sight.
All done and hardly breathing. I popped the button on the door handle, just as I heard the flush, but the door would not open. I quickly glanced back and saw the water rising to the top of the toilet bowl rim. Oh shit, this is not good people! I tried the exit door once again and what happened was unbelievable, the button on the handle instantly relocked. Was this stall possessed?
I started frantically waving my hands over the toilet’s automatic flush. Nothing was happening except the toilet paper mounds were starting to swell like sodden Pampers. Now, I am beginning to sweat! Decision time, should I crawl out from under the door or will my butt get stuck? I decided I’d better try the door a few more times and thankfully this time when the button popped out, I pushed the handle up instead of down. Hallelujah, the door opened and I literally fell out on the floor. So much for keeping a low profile! I sidled up to the sink and when I pressed the soap dispenser, I was so rattled, I got a triple portion.
Note to self, the third cup of coffee is a big “no no”! Not only did it stir everything up from the last seven meals, it made me jittery.
Note to those who construct washrooms –
1. Mark the stalls farthest from the sinks – “POOPERS ONLY”
2. Music to cover all sounds would be helpful.
3. Poo Poo Pouri is a “MUST”
4. Wet ones would be efficient and cut down on toilet paper
5. You (the builder) must attempt to crawl under the door
6. Why get fancy with the “flipping handle”? Keep it simple
7. Guys we need a bloody hook for our purse!!