The Day I Saw a “F*** It” in the Stall Behind Me.
I did my business and walked to the mirror. With the line of stalls behind me I focused on my womanly frame in the mirrored wall and observed my outfit. It was a Friday, I was dressed like shit. Just wanted to make sure i was still dressed like shit. I lose focus and my mind wanders towards things like, Who makes the fringe for moccasins?
I conjure my focus back and immediately understand that I’ve managed to lock eyes (for how long I’ll never know or care to) with the lady relieving herself behind me. One eyeball through the slit of Stall-Door Grey stall door meets the rogue brown eyeball of a girl checking herself out. I have no idea what to do. Exeunt.
You might wonder how the random eye locking of Girl/Girl in Stall would symbolize the moment in which I chose to go forward with a blog. Keep wondering and let me know, bc I have no clue. *blink*
Joking. It’s a “F*** It” moment.
Imagine sitting on a toilet in the middle of the Colorado mesa’s as a packed tour raft brings the eyes of passers by slowly pushed by current towards your Kingdom of Bodily Functions. What are you gonna do? Run away crying with dropped trou? Hide behind an old copy of Time magazine hoping the smiling picture of Obama will confuse them? Play monkey and give them a show they’ll never forget (as if being seen in your most odorific private time isn’t stamping enough)? Nope. You look at the midwestern families and newlyweds looking for a thrill (didn’t they see the fine print under “Experience Nature” on the itinerary?) and wave. You wave with such gusto your little training potty shifts itself further into the red clay and you have the short lived fear you’re about to tip over. You wave until they’re gone from sight so you can wipe yourself accordingly. You pull up your pants, you look off at the horizon and you say, Fuck it.
I didn’t have a horizon to look off into, I thought waving might scare her from ever leaving the haven of the stall- so I mentally shrugged my shoulders and whispered a hearty “Fuck it” before going on with my day.
I hope if she ever finds herself on this site she thinks of my one brown eye (the actual eye, ya’ll) as those tourists do of my friend and his shit. A memory with a distinctive lip curl and a smiling finish that can only be interpreted as a “Fuck it”.
I hope you have fun with my Fuck It moment of a blog.