Port-a-teraphobia

Man, I gotta go.

It’s a part of the pandemic I feel like I have no right to gripe about: all the public toilets disappeared. I get why; who wants to clean them? Before we had a grip on how this thing spreads, when we were all polishing our bananas with Lysol wipes, when little doughnut dealers and coffee cartels without six feet to spare had to fire all their hired hands, when the supply chain got more backed up than a constipated Pomeranian on a Taco Bell dumpster diet, that’s when the world started testing my bladder. All the folks stuck at home were a moonwalk from relief, but out pounding the pavement with a fistful of resumes could turn a weak stream into a leg-lifter. No reason I should know this, but even the port-a-johns got locked.

It was a two-hour bus ride to any business that dared hiring, and by the end of that voyage, I squirmed in my seat, hiding my tortured grimace behind a KN-940 mask. I was early for my interview, a battle-tested strategy on my part, giving myself time to speedwalk through the semi-deserted mall to the pristine facility housing my favorite handicap stall, one that used to see more backsides than a Macy’s Santa lap, but nowadays saw just as much rump as I did in a world without dating apps. When I got within sight of this glistening oasis, though, I was struck down by the vicious injustice of a yellow ‘wet floor’ sign barring the door.

I quickly changed direction before any internal valve got a premature ‘go’. A painful protest burned in my lower half, and I sucked in a breath as if that had any effect on my liquid retention. I had no idea where to go, half an hour until my interview, and maybe thirty seconds until a kidney explodes. Fingers digging into my fists, I scanned each hieroglyphic sign for the floating-head figure of my salvation.

My walk gave me away; that single-hip shimmy we’ve all turned to for a hands-free readjustment. A sympathetic security guard pointed through the double doors and across the street, to a visitor’s center I would have dismissed as deserted without a second glance. Did I have time to make it? I didn’t have a choice, not daring to run but striding with speed over a road blessedly uncongested with traffic. Once I was through the doors, I had enough privacy for a quick hands-on re-shuffle, still seconds away from the point of no return.

Eyes watering, I located the bathroom and barreled through. The swing door allowed a shaft of sunlight to illuminate the otherwise windowless darkness, and in my haste, I was halfway across the tile floor before the door closed, plunging the room into pitch black before I could locate a light switch.

A spasm of pain clenched my bladder in a relentless fist. Breathing through my teeth, I briefly debated between going back for the switch, or sitting down in the dark, and decided I didn’t have time for dignity. I stretched one hand out for the metal stall door, the other hand fussing with the dress slacks I was just a little too thick for, when I heard a sound.

It was just a little splash, like the sound a breaching fish. The brief flash of light from my entrance had not lasted long enough for me to count the stalls, let alone check for legs, but who would linger with the lights off? I didn’t have time, I just didn’t have time, and I limped forward, feeling my way into the nearest refuge, and trusting that any nocturnal lurker would just have to deal with me unloading two liters. The pants were unzipped, this was happening.

Right in front of me, something giggled in the dark.

I took a step back and stumbled, over-balanced as the stall door swung away, and landed butt-first on the tile, sharp pain stabbing through my abdomen. I had to go back for the light switch now, crawling quickly across the checkerboard floor, when something cold and wet wrapped around my leg.

Dragged across the stone tile, I flailed wildly, latching onto the thin metal of the bathroom stall and releasing a vibrato moan of horror and revulsion. Water flooded my sock as my heel hit the basin, and the slick-skinned python yanked and squeezed, refusing to be kicked off. I pulled against it, a horizontal mountaineer climbing the aluminum divide, cold tendrils of unflushed wet soaking into my slacks, every curse word I knew devolving into cornered-rat yelps. Furious and terrified, I heard the clatter of metal on stone. My phone. My phone!

A frigid geyser burst from the toilet bowl, and two more tentacles seized me, grasping my wrist, lashing over my chest, the thin sheet of metallic sanctuary ripped from my fingertips. My free leg braced against the basin, I scrabbled at the slick skin, my pandemic nails chewed down to the quick and going nowhere as offensive weapons. I lunged forward and ripped the shoe off my grappled foot, slapping the heel against the slimy muscle until it cringed from me, and I kicked off from the bowl, launching myself out of that slippery reach.

My half-down trousers betrayed me, and I slammed, knees and chin, hard against the tile floor. The welcome rectangle of my phone skittered away from my lucky hand, and I reached out for it, but the thing reached out for me, wrapping a vengeful tentacle around my neck. Strangling myself against the slippery noose, I made a mad grasp for the phone before the plumber’s nightmare dragged me back, that same girlish giggle pushing past the blood in my ears. Frantic tapping resurrected my lifeline, and I fumbled for the button that would give me light. I missed, and got the camera.

A blinding flash ripped across the stall, banishing the shadows in a searing blaze of LED glory. The creature squealed, panicked, and let go, and I dove out of the stall, banging my head against the swinging door and lunging for freedom. I hit the dry painted plaster of the outer wall and Velcro-ed onto it, reaching up and finally finding the switch.

As the fluorescents flickered to life, I found myself alone. No dark arms reached for me, no monster charged, and I might have imagined that last small sound, like a breaching fish. The two-stalled room was empty, save for my bruised and pants-less self, and I gathered up my phone and my shoes and left my pride in the puddle on the floor. I was not getting a job today. But I didn’t need a toilet anymore.