Shatshame

I’m sitting here in the Denver airport United Club. More precisely I am in he men’s room, Kangaroo changing station stall. I won’t go into detail here but it involves some questionable airport beef brisket. Anyway, I like these stalls for a number of reasons. First I can sterilize the giant shelf before resting my beloved bag on it. Second, because it was designed for me, my imaginary baby, and our equally non existent stroller, I have a ton of room.

I should also tell you that this facility itself is huge. Easily nine other open stalls. And what just happened a few or ten short minutes ago? A dude came in and parked right next to me. Now I have few problems with public restrooms. I an neither squeamish nor shy. But this is a clear breach of guy etiquette.

So he initially seemed in a hurry had me momentarily ready to forgive. But since my work was complete and I was just catching up on some electronic correspondence I couldn’t help but notice that nothing was happening in the otherwise empty echo chamber. So not only was this not the earlier perceived emergent situation but when someone else walked in to use a urinal he audibly groaned.

I am dealing with a shyshitter. And because I have nothing better to do I am now sitting here typing this to you. Every once in a while I shift position and the electronic eye flushes giving him hope. But my feet remain in place. I started the timer on my watch because I am just that twisted and we are now passing the fifteen minute mark. This has turned into something more than my initial mischief. I am now locked in a battle of wills.

Update: as we pass twenty minutes my legs and ass are beginning to tingle. Still no noise from he guy next door.

25 minute mark: if he has died I will concede the victory.

28th minute: someone didn’t have as much time to kill as I do…

Nothing like a solid win to round out a trip.

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