- 6 years ago
- Wedding: February 2013
This has nothing to do with anything wedding related, but many of you ladies are quick on your feet and I figured would have some witty replies to what just happened to me.
I’m in Walmart and go to use the restroom (first big mistake), and 3 of the 4 stalls are occupied. I start to go into the empty one, then realize someone with an upset stomach had explosive rear end problems all over the toilet. Needless to say, I quickly back out and wait for another one.
The one next to it opens up, and when the woman walks out and sees me standing there waiting for a free stall, she informs me I “probably want to wait for another stall because that seat is wet” since she “had to squat” and peed all over the toilet seat. I struggle with the fact that if you KNOW you just peed all over the seat, why can’t you be courteous for the next person and wipe it off, but I appreciated her frankness, so in the end I politely thanked her for her honesty and waited for the next one.
The Bad-At-Hover-Crafting-Woman’s daughter comes out and I enter the stall no problem.
Upon exiting the stall and walking to the sinks, however, I see a heavyset woman in her 50’s leaning against a shopping cart moving slowly towards the door. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but she she looks at me and gets this really guilty look on her face, so I curiously look back at her. Then she mumbles something about washing her hands, but realizing I didn’t hear her clearly, she loudly says:
“Oh I just feel so weak. I don’t think I can wash my hands.”
I stare at her in disbelief wondering if this is actually happening and if that’s really her excuse.
She says, “I’m just so tired, I can’t do it. I can’t wash my hands. I’m too weak.”At this point I’m torn between wanting to make a snarky comment like “Oh how very unhygienic of you. Let me tell you that I, as well as the rest of the world, really appreciate that,” or remaining silent. I stupidly take the non-confrontational route and remain silent.
She waddles towards the door again telling me she’s so weak, and how age is a horrible thing and how I should never get old. I watch her (as I’m washing my own hands) walk to the door, grab the handle with her nasty disgusting hands, pull the door open about a foot, then deliberately let go of it to have it close.
She then says, “Oh honey. I’m going to wait for you to finish so you can open the door for me. I’m too weak. I just can’t.”
UM EW. I just washed my hands. No WAY I want to touch that. But at this point it’s really too late for me to say anything, so I give her a disdainful look, remain quiet, and make as big of a production as I can of angrily grabbing paper towels so I don’t touch the door handle.