The day started out as a typical Monday. The alarm sounds at 4am. This gives me enough time to double-check that I have packed everything, that I have my ticket and passport, make the coffee and deliver it to Del, my girlfriend, who is still sleeping. I guess the coffee is kind of a peace offering because she is to take me to the airport, and Del values her sleep.
Rushed as usual at the Vancouver airport, Del is usually lucky and gets a great parking spot. Now, just enough time to get that last smoke in before facing the morning crowd at YVR. A trick I learned from Jon Schwartz, always go to the first class ticket line, if they say "You do not have a first class ticket" , smile, be friendly and act stupid. It works every time. The flight to MSP, on the way to Peoria, departs at 6:45. We arrived at 5:50. Sounds like plenty of time, right? Well then there are the extra little things you have to do in order to get back in the U.S., not to mention, the special rituals that Del and I practice every time we part.
Customs was backed up but it went really fast, I got into a fast line. The agent scans my passport, and on the computer, sees how often I have been there. He decides he can help me in the future with an INSpass, and hands me an application. (I try not to cut the customs agents short, it doesn’t pay).
A family of 5 in front of me, the friendly customs dog sits next to the father. Agents rush in and escort the family away. The line now is five people shorter, and I think I may have time to have a few drags of a Marlboro in the Benson & Hedges courtesy room before the flight boards. I look out of the window, see the line and reach into my case for my "secret weapon".
I like to sit as close to the front of the plane as I can, I hate waiting to get off the plane if I am sitting in the back. But, if you sit in the front, you board last, and could have problems getting space in the overhead compartment. You learn some tricks on the road. Some you invent yourself. I invented this little trick and can always board first: I carry an asthma inhaler. (an empty one that I got from a friend) I hold it in my hand that is handing the boarding pass to the flight attendant collecting the passes. If I am challenged, all I say is: "I have to sit down" it always works.
We land in Minneapolis close to on time, closer than Northwest Airlines usually is. In fact, it would not surprise me if they had a parade, and retired the flight number. I have been through this airport at least a dozen times, I know my way around…. so I thought. I head to the green concourse where I can find an empty locker to place my equipment, then I head to the smoking area. While I was getting the quarters for the locker, a foreign woman asked my assistance, I complied, and then on to the rest room.
I walk into the vacant rest room, choose my stall, lock the door and sit. Usually perceptive, my sixth sense (along with a few others) abandoned me. Down on the floor to the right of me is a magazine opened to an article entitled "How to spot Mr. Right on the First meeting". I picked up the magazine and looked for the Sports section. My futile search was interrupted by the sound of spiked heels on a ceramic tile floor. Ahhh the audio sense returned. Then the sense of sight woke up with: "oh, by the way Bob, I noticed there were no urinals when we arrived… AND the paper protective toilet seat cover dispenser was EMPTY!" I quickly checked behind me, indeed it was empty. I was in uncharted territory. Men don’t use these. There are slogans on the dispensers. The slogans on the dispensers of the toilet seat covers in the Men’s room read: "Bring back the Hostages!!" In the Women’s room they read: "Y2K Compatible" Yes folks, I was pooping in the Lady’s Room.
Realizing my error, I now had to devise a plan of action. Had this been before my ADMI days, I could pluck out my mustache and count on my ponytail as camouflage, or had this been a restaurant, I could wait until they close. But this was Minneapolis-St.Paul Airport. I dropped the magazine despite my curiosity about a few of the articles.
My thoughts turned to thinking of how many feminine behinds have graced this seat which I now occupy. It could be that thousands have sat where I sit before an absent minded male butt desecrated it. But no time to daydream now. I felt like I was ripping apart the whole time-space continuum. My natural reaction was to wait for silence. I drew upon my experience as a guy.
From the age of nine, I learned that women go to the rest room in pairs or even groups. So logically if I heard no talking, I could deduce that the room was empty, except for my hairy ass. I didn’t count on the "maverick" woman who goes to the potty alone. I waited. I heard a child being guided to the stall next to me. A yo-yo rolls under the door as I hear the mom say, "I told you not to bring that thing in here!" I reach down and push it out just as the child peeks under long enough to see my hairy arm. "Mom! I think Aunt Lucille is in there!", the young voice proclaims. "Aunt Lucille lives in Ohio" the mom snapped. "Now hurry up!" …. I never did hear another peep from the child. I waited for silence. Five minutes maybe. When I heard nothing, I quietly unlocked the door, peeked out, and saw an empty room. Empty until I got to the vanity area. The "maverick" was putting on her make-up. I slinked behind her thinking I was home free. I could see the exit. I was almost there. Northwest Airlines was on time again. They could not have planned it better. The same gaggle of flight attendants that were assigned to my flight were shoulder to shoulder entering the ladies’ room. I covered my face. I only had ten feet to go...ten feet to freedom. "Men’s room full Mr. Penland?" one asked. I kept walking…. briskly.
As I passed through the entrance, the world seemed to return to its natural state. Almost as if I passed through a portal to another dimension and had returned. My universe was right again. My gender welcomed me home with open arms (fortunately this was not the San Francisco Airport). I had been to uncharted land, and I returned unscathed, and probably about a pound lighter.
Still having fun.
Bob(by) <^>