Journey to Peace: A 12 Step Program for Anxiety, Panic, & Life by Peg Crompton

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“Is anyone out there?” were not words I expected to utter on this fine, sunny day.    Little did I know what was to come.

 Driving to Charlottesville, Virginia from the Eastern Panhandle of West Virginia took about three hours.  It was a pleasant enough ride, but I’d rather not be making it.  Beautiful scenery surrounded me.  The views along the way included mountains, valleys, and farms.

 Had this been a vacation, the ride may have been more enjoyable.  This was a day-long business trip, so it meant six hours on the road for a five hour meeting.

 “Michele, welcome to the program,” said Dr. Laura through my XM radio.  I switched the station.

 “Liberalism,” Rush started.  Again, I switched the station.

 Music was what I really wanted to hear.  I kept pushing the search button until, “The landslide…”  Yes, Fleetwood Mac, that would do.

 Taking a sip from my Kiwi-Strawberry Propel water bottle, I noticed that it was almost empty. 

 In that moment, three things became crystal clear.  I had taken a wrong turn somewhere, would be late to the meeting, and had to pee.

 I was growing increasingly uncomfortable in my seat.  Glaring out the windshield looking for my exit sign, I tried to stay focused.  Yet, I couldn’t wait to get there and find the nearest bathroom.

 As I squirmed in my seat, I veered toward my exit, hoping to whisk through the traffic lights as they all turned green.  No luck.  Red lights had me stopping at each and every one; ten to be exact.

 Finally arriving at my destination, I climbed carefully out of the car and headed towards the door.

 Just inside there was a greeter, a long table loaded with pamphlets, and a sign in sheet.  As I signed in, I asked, “Where’s the bathroom?”

 “You must enter your meeting room, exit through the back door, and you’ll find the restrooms in a hallway.”

 “Thanks,” I said as I hurried away.

 As I entered the room, the group leader motioned for me to join them.  They were already in the middle of a session.  Immediately, all eyes moved to me.

 “Tell us about your project,” uttered the group leader, “We were anxious for your arrival as we’ve heard you’re making great strides.”

 Giving a brief synopsis, I excused myself, and made my way to the nearest restroom.  I had to go.  Waiting for the next break seemed impossible.  My discomfort was growing with each second that passed.

 Once through the restroom door, I ran to the farthest stall.  Jumping from one leg to the other, I started to unzip my pants. 

 The bathroom wasn’t the cleanest I’d seen, but it wasn’t bad either.  Balancing myself, hovering over the seat, I found relief at last.  Squatting in that position for a while, my legs began to tremble.

 Anxious to be finished, I reached for the toilet tissue.  Empty?  I had been in too much of a hurry to look. 

 “Hello, is anyone out there?” I asked sheepishly.

 No reply.

  Trying to reach a decision on what to do, my legs were growing tired and this position was not comfortable.  I began to wonder if I could just shuffle into the next stall without being seen.

 “Hello, is anyone out there?” I tried again.

 No reply.

  I slowly opened the stall door and peered out, into the bathroom.  There was no one around.  Moving quickly, I shuffled my legs with my pants around my ankles.  My purse was on my shoulder, and my hands held the waistband of my pants. 

 As I rounded the corner into the next stall, the bathroom door opened as a group of chatting ladies entered. 

 An immediate silence engulfed the room as they saw me.  The stall door shut behind me. 

 “There was no bathroom tissue,” I croaked through the door, as my face reddened.

Unfortunately, two of the women were from my group.  I washed my hands, and quickly returned to my meeting.

 Glancing around the room, I feigned a smile, giving off a friendly vibe.   Much to my dismay, I heard a little snickering and stifled laughter from the corner of the room.  I noticed these were the ladies of the bathroom, obviously telling my tale.  This is not good.  It breaks the code of (silent) bathroom etiquette.  You simply do not tell anyone what you see in there.  It is a violation.  I shrugged it off as best I could and told myself it was just bad manners and turned my attention to the meeting at hand. 

 As I began to make idle conversation with the women sitting next to me, I also made a mental note.  From this point on I would always carry tissue in my purse, avoiding the need to ever again have to ask from the prison of a bathroom stall . . .Is anyone out there?