As my family and close friends all know, I am a tiny bit phobic of germs in general and public restrooms in particular. I am the crazy woman that opens the door to the rest room with her shirtsleeve and turns on the tap with the paper towel. Taking my boys into a public restroom, I repeat the mantra I learned from my mother. “Don’t touch anything, don’t touch anything, wash your hands.” As I repeat the mantra over and over on each trip to the restroom, I know that I need to stop. I want to stop because I know that I am instilling this same phobia in my sons, as my mother did to me and her mother did to her. I just can’t to stop myself. Some personalities seem more susceptible to this influence than others. My mother was more so than her sisters, just like her mother. I seem more susceptible than my siblings and I am worried Liam might be vulnerable too. Colin, luckily, does not seem affected in the least.
On Hikoi Day during the boys' Outdoor Ed Week, we had a few minutes after returning from Skyline gondola for bathroom breaks and to eat our snacks before the Maori lecture. I ran to use the restroom in the main school hall. When I entered the restroom wearing my sunglasses, I could barely see. I tucked my glasses into my shirt and rushed to do my business.
Someone hadn’t flushed before me, but I thought to myself, "Be a good environmentalist, save water and flush after you pee. If it's yellow, let it mellow."
As I turned to flush the toilet, my glasses slipped off the front of my shirt, splashed into the toilet bowl and sank.
I said, “S#?t!” and thought, “Now, what do I do?”
I had two choices. One, I could walk out of the bathroom and pretend I hadn’t worn sunglasses that day. But we had an afternoon of walking around in the bright sunshine. Also, they were an expensive pair of sunglasses that I really liked. I didn’t know if I could find another pair of them here in New Zealand.
I went with my second choice. I took a deep breath, plunged my hand to the bottom of the bowl and grabbed my glasses. I turned on the faucet without a paper towel because there weren’t any and, at this point, I was beyond caring. Then, I discovered the soap dispenser was empty too. I rinsed my hands and glasses in lukewarm water. Holding my dripping glasses with my wet fingertips at arm's length, I left the restroom. I needed soap and decided the administrators' bathroom would be my best option. Thank the goddess, the administrators had soap, towels and hot water. By the time I returned to the school group, they were heading into the main hall for the lecture. I had missed snack, which was fine with me, because I had completely lost my appetite.
When I got home I soaked my glasses and hands in Purell, washed them both again with soap and hot water, and finally took a shower, without my sunglasses.
My family, you should be proud of me. Maybe, just maybe, I have broken the phobic cycle.
p.s. I offer a picture of a clean and radiant rainbow, also taken during Outdoor Education Week, as an antidote to this disgusting blog entry. If you look really closely, you can see a hint of a double rainbow!
1 comment:
Carolyn, your Aunties are very proud of you. And you are correct in being concerned that your personal family origin phobias will be passed on to Liam. He probably has already been infected and will pass it on to his offspring, but whatever, I am proud you allowed common sense to overcome years of maternal warnings. I assure you, nothing will happen to you. Ask your Aunt Joyce about the barbeque tongs hanging from the handle of the outhouse door. Now THAT is a story of hygiene thrown to the wind!
;-)
Love you Auntie Jean
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