Meet Carolyn Anne Webber; a plain yet intelligent woman of about 31 years of age, single, typical height and average weight; the sort that goes unnoticed like the inhaling and exhaling of a breath or . . . more
It was the earliest of the morn of a Saturday. The sun peeked over the horizon, and I lay in bed dreaming of some fellow with feet as large as an elephant and as green as an elm leaf during the height of a long lazy summer. A friend, an associate who resides about 45 miles away, interrupted my slumber with a phone call. Initially, I thought the ringing originated from the mouth of the gentleman with the oversized shoes; as if he were attempting to speak to me. However, the persistent sound eventually began to slowly carry me away from his world into the place of actuality. I rolled over on my side and reached toward the nightstand, grasping the phone. “This better be important,” I answered with a gruffly voice. Now, I consider myself a person of the night; it’s when I’m the most productive and creative. I don’t particularly enjoy going to sleep, but oddly as it seems, when I get to that state of somewhat suspended sensory and motor activity, I take no pleasure in being aroused. “Hey Rome, what’s up,” came a cheery voice through the receiver. I immediately took notice. And it was not what the voice had said that made me do so; for it was the manner in which those meaningless words were spoken that briefly captured my attention. It is to my amazement that a certain percentage of the populace, somehow, can be jolly, alert, or full of life in the wee hours of the morning. Within me, it conjures up feelings of envy, jealousy, resentfulness, and every other negative sentiment that suddenly eludes me, toward those types of souls. And I’ll be honest; simply put, it’s because I myself can not seem to master or grasp that prize. I slowly pulled the comforter over my head. “Who is this? I asked, with a slight annoyance. “Michelle, this is Michelle. What you doing?” It was an odd, query—a very odd question indeed. And if the woman knew of me as well as she had hoped, she probably would have chosen another. “What the hell do you mean, what am I doing? Sleeping damn it!” I responded sharply. I’ll admit, my reply to the woman’s query was that of an irregular one; for how can one be sleeping and yet answer to a question? However, I am obviously not a member of the populace that seems to excel at tasks or speech before the crowing of a barnyard roster; and that fact alone gives my response a certain legitimacy. “Oh, sorry,” said Michelle, her tone unconvincingly apologetic. “I’m having a barbeque this afternoon, you should drive up.” “Barbeque, what time?” I asked, attempting to muster a bit of interest in my tone. “Around 5 o’clock, can you make it?” Now, I’m not certain regarding anyone else, but to asked a question of me before I am at the very least out of bed, to be sure, the answer to that question will most certainly be no; and it matters not what the issue. “Nope” I answered, without a thought. “Ahhhh come on Rome, you can make it,” she appealed. At that, my mind, being barely cognizant, wanted little more of the exchange, and I could feel it drifting in and out of awareness. So in order to bring the one-sided chitchat to a prompt conclusion, I agreed to whatever it was that she requested of me. It was late that afternoon when I recalled the conversation, so I gathered some things, and then preceded to traveling along the freeway, toward her home. I had consumed a rather fair amount of coffee that morning, and the effects of it were still prevalent. I was fortunate enough to have notice a gas station advertisement on a side road, so I took the upcoming exit. The station, positioned on a corner, looked as though the facilities would not be to my liking so I continued on my way. It was at shortly after, that I noticed a certain department store, one in which I shall not identify by name, and so I drove the vehicle into it’s parking lot. It is one the strangest of mysteries of the universe and surely never will be explained properly, but the closer one gets to a restroom, the worst the need becomes. I raced toward the entrance and into the store, weaving between customers as if a skilled competitive automobile driver. And it was by heavenly intervention that the place of which I so desperately searched was positioned in a proper place, much nearer the entrance than I had hoped. It was without hesitation, that I forcefully pushed open the door, nearly causing it to detach from it’s hinge. And when an empty stall stood before me, I immediately took advantage of it without so much as a second thought. I entered the small area, closed the door behind me, and then fumbled with the zipper of my trousers. The task, seemingly a uncomplicated one, was heighten by its complexity simply by the fact that my feet danced wildly, as if I was stepping on glowing embers of coals. Eventually, after focusing, attempting to convince one leg to cease prancing about, I was able to grasp the mutinous zipper. I stood there for a moment with a feeling of utter relief, and my bladder, although it remained silent, surely experienced a type of euphoria also. It was the noise of shoes striking the hard surface of the floor that suddenly caught my attention. They were of none that I had taken notice of in a bathroom before, and reminded me of a horse trotting along a cobblestone street. Without warning, a thought of imaginable horror flashed before me. The sound, which was strange where I stood, was as familiar as the moon in a dark and cloudless sky had I been at any other locale. I heard the female walk to the sink and then release water from the facet. My heart beat the drums of death in my chest. I close the zipper slowly, hoping the woman would not take notice of the sound, and quickly tried to determine what course of action to take. To my surprise, and it was undoubtedly an unconscious conclusion, I opened the door of the stall, and briefly stared at the woman eye to eye. “How are you doing ma’am, nice day isn’t it?” were the awkward words that arose from within me. I can say with an absolute measure of assurance that I will never forget the look upon that woman’s face; for she stared at me as if I, a man, have given birth to a child there, in her presence. Not lingering about, waiting for her to respond regarding the condition of the current climate, for it would have be foolish to do so, I retreated from the restroom in such a manner as to not to raise unwanted attention or suspicion. And I was sure that the woman would report that some unruly gentleman of very little moral character was attempting to do dastardly deeds in the female bathroom. I glanced into the rear mirror at a cloud of grey smoke, created by the wheels of my vehicle as I left the parking lot with the utmost urgency. That place, that fine department store, I have never had the desire to return. And quite frankly, I don’t believe I ever will. It is a strange manner, a strange manner indeed in which to lose a customer, wouldn’t you agree? To guarantee that no other soul shall experience such horrific circumstances of this nature, I shall promptly file a grievance of negligence against the previously mentioned department store. :)
