It seems after evey post about my vacation, I eventually post about my fear of flying. For a change, I've decided to post about my own questionable behavior in airport public men's rooms.
No, it isn't that.
One of the ways I deal with my anxiety about flying is that, when I have to stop over, I schedule connecting flights so that I have 2-3 hours in the airport. Some of this is logistics -- if my first flight is delayed, I have a 2-3 hour grace period before I miss my connecting flight. Some of it is that the lengthy stopover gives me a chance to walk around, read, eat something (and then let the food digest so I don't need the little bag on the flight).
I also spend an inordinate amount of time in the men's room.
I usually find a stall, hopefully the last one against a far wall (never the handicapped one).
I sit myself down and pull out a book and read (well, and other things of course.)
It really relaxes me to sit there, at times for more than an hour, reading a chapter or two. No one has ever noticed, until 9/11. The next flight after 9/11, as I was sitting in a men's room in the St. Louis airport, I was startled when a man with a deep voice knocked fairly hard on the door, and asked if I was OK.
No, it wasn't that.
It turns out that a janitor had noticed that I had been there for a long time (no idea how he knew for certain) and had notified airport security.
Frankly, I'm thankful I didn't end up strip-searched with an impromptu prostate check. Air travel just isn't what it used to be.
I stuttered through the closed door that I was fine, and quickly decided I really didn't need to go into a long drawn out discussion about the coping mechanisms for agorophobia, or how I find it to be more private in the middle of a busy men's room than it is sitting in a crowded gate. Or that I find the closeness of the three walls and one door reassuring. Or that the sound of rushing water relaxes me.
Or that I have to read a chapter to have a good BM anyways.
After telling him that I was OK, the security guard offered any assistance that he could provide
(No, it wasn't that)
and then was on his way.
All I can say, after all the bru-ha-ha over Senator Larry Craig, is that I'm glad I didn't try to pass the officer anything under the door, or slide my foot too close to his, or open the door with my pants down.
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