It Could Only Happen To Me

You just can't make this stuff up. Normally, my visits to use the restroom are uneventful, but in the last week or so that hasn't been the case. In Savannah, I walked in to the men's room, not once, but twice. TWICE. Surely, my head must be up my ass. Of course, one could argue that one time the language on the door was in Italian, but shouldn't I really know the difference between signore and donne. Somewhere, I remember thinking Signourney Weaver and Don Johnson, but now, come to think of it, I don't think they are Italian and why would their names be on a bathroom door. Another day in Savannah, I used the fitness center to complete my walking routine for the day and needed to use the facility right outside the door. In my comings and goings in the five days that I stayed there I never saw another person enter or exit the ladie's restroom. The bathroom consisted of three stalls, one of which was the handicapped stall--no one around so I used that--I heard someone enter but I was checking my email on my phone so I hadn't really noticed if she had exited or not. After a bit, I heard an "ahem" so I finished what I was doing and opened the door. There waiting for the handicapped stall was an elderly lady pushing a walker, frowning slightly. I grimaced to myself and mumbled an apology and left the room. (Note to self: no more using the handicapped stall.) Yesterday at a ladie's luncheon I attended with my sister I excused myself to visit the restroom. My choice of stalls went like this: First stall had somebody else's business in the toilet so I walked on past. Second stall was too small. Third stall was the handicapped stall and I now avoid these. The fourth stall--which was on the side opposite of the other three--had a closed door so I reached for it. It opened freely and there was a lady sitting on the toilet. "Oops, sorry!" I exlaimed, shutting the door as fast as I opened it. Instinctively, I reached for the next closest door (handicapped stall) and quickly tried to reason with myself about what had happened. Outside the door, I heard the sounds of zipping, flushing, a few curse words and finally this: "You would have to pick the stall with the only closed door." "Is the lock broken?" I asked. Nothing. The only other noise I heard was of the outer door opening and closing. Of course, I did check the lock on the door and it functioned properly. I don't know about that lady, but showing my business to anyone that might open an unlocked door is not something that I do on a regular basis, whether checking my phone or not.