I have been staring at my shoe for the last half hour like a mental patient. I think I might have hypnotized myself. It all started with me thinking about the puddle of filth I discovered too late during an emergent stop just past security. The other bathroom patrons didn’t understand what I was doing after lathering my hands and cupping handfuls of water onto the floor.

Then I dried my hands with paper towels dropping them on top of the suds. Then I basically scrubbed my shoes back and forth until I felt a little better. Shuffled my way to the United Club where I repeated the process.

Guys are pigs. The first idiot forgets to shake or has a leaky valve and drips on the ground under the urinal. The next fella seeing the drips stands back a little to not step in the tiny piss puddle and he ends up adding some overspray to the problem. The further back we stand the worse it gets until the problem unofficially closes the toilet or some idiot like me wades in unaware.

So I sat here considering my options when I placed myself in the afore mentioned trance. There is a large part of me that wants to take them off and walk away. There would be no trouble until I land at O’Hare. Then the things I would trod through in my stocking feel would make this problem look like I strolled through spilled milk.

If these shoes could talk they would be cursing me out for my careless transgression. And I would just have to sit here and take it.

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