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What doesn't kill you. Part 1

Finding a public restroom up to even the barest of standards is the bane of my existence. Whether theater or church, school or plane, every step I take and move I make brings further risk of coming into contact with an unpredictable microorganism with which I am certain I would not like to be acqauinted.

One must mentally prepare for any endeavor involving the public restroom or even a private one if too many bathroom-utilizing-people happen to be present.

First, I can't be the only one to consider the damage done to one's shoes alone when the soles are tainted with public restroom floor germs. And each surface threatens to taint one's clothing, or worse still, the uncovered skin bits which may unintentionally bump against the door or wall of a particularly small space.

If these possibilities were not traumatic enough, there's the problem of opening and closing doors. A handle or latch most always requires grabbing. It's so wrong because the problem of when to cleanse the hands then presents itself:
Before, After or Both?
The best possible scenario is the handicap stall/sink combo but the blatant disregard for the guilt associated with using a facility meant for the disabled is perilous. (A rebellious spirit is necessary: "So!" "Who's gonna stop me?" "I'm going in.") I can't be alone in this.

But, thirdly, even in the assumedly cleaner Handicap Stall (or the First Stall if you're still buying into that old wives' tale), one can never be certain what one may find. One may inadvertently follow
a Hoverer,
a Nonflusher
or, worse still,
a small child.

Then, there's the toilet paper conundrum. That is to say: What is to be done in the absence of it? I know I'm not the only one who lives in fear of paper product insufficiency.


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