“Oh, no!”
“Oh, yeah.” I let go of her, confident she won’t move, and scan the floor. It’s a tiny space, but I can’t see the device anywhere. Checking over my shoulder, I spot it. It’s in the worst place possible: sitting in the goddamn toilet. It’s got one of those protective cases, but I doubt it safeguards against chemically treated toilet water and poop particles.
“Shitsicles.”
“What’s wrong?” She grabs my arm again. I’m starting to think she’s doing it on purpose.
“It’s in the toilet.”
“Oh. Ew. That’s so gross. You shouldn’t use your phone in public bathrooms.”
There’s no response I can give that isn’t going to make me sound like an asshole. I might have a right to be one, but I don’t get to act like one unless I’m on the ice. Otherwise, it ends up in the media, all twisted around.
I have no other option but to stick my hand in there and get it. I maneuver to face the bowl of doom. Before I shove my hand in, I try to convince myself it’s the same as sticking my finger in an ass—like during foreplay. It doesn’t work, though, I’m still on the verge of gagging. I grab some of the rough, single-ply toilet paper to minimize contact. Whatever’s been in that toilet, it can’t be worse than some of the bunnies I’ve been with.
Except I can wrap my dick and give it a wash when the dirty is over. Not quite so easy in this case.
An announcement over the PA system warns us that we need to get back to our seats. A tiny bump follows, as if to drive the point home. Nut Peeper must have the worst balance in the world. She slams into me from behind, and I bang my head on the wall. I throw out my hand to stop from face planting into the bowl. I’m about six inches away from my poor phone, lying in the toilet bowl. It better still work, or I’m screwed.
Nut Peeper is making full-body contact. “Are you okay? I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so sorry. I thought it was a good opportunity to use the bathroom with you out of your seat. You’re so big, and I wouldn’t have been able to get around you if you fell asleep again. I have a tiny bladder. I should probably have surgery.”
I shake her off and reach for my phone just as the sound of suction fills the tiny room. The little hole in the toilet opens, threatening to claim my phone.
“No!” I snatch it up before it can disappear forever.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit the button!” She’s latched onto me again, like a damn leech, peering over my shoulder.
“My phone almost got sucked down the toilet!”
There’s a knock at the door. “Sir? We’re experiencing turbulence. You must return to your seat immediately.”
“I’ll be right out!” I spin around, almost elbowing the chick in the neck, as I turn on the tap. I don’t know what I’m thinking as I hold my phone under the spray, other than I need to clean it off and that I’ll have to forever use speaker phone until I get a new one. Which I’ll be doing tomorrow.
“Won’t that ruin the phone?” asks Nut Peeper.
“Shit. Goddamn it!” I turn off the water and nab a handful of paper towels. I’d use my shirt, but it’s just as disgusting as the phone.
“You probably shouldn’t have done that.”
“Probably not, but it was covered in intestinal juice.”
“Ew. That’s gross.”
“It’s your damn fault. Why are you even still in here?”
“Because of the turbulence, remember?” She’s looking at me like I’m crazy, when it’s clear she’s the one a few bricks short of a load.
The flight attendant knocks on the door again, more insistently this time. “Sir? Only one person is allowed in the bathroom at a time. You need to come out now.”
I throw up my hands. “Great. Now we’re in trouble. Could this day get any goddamn worse?” I reach around Nut Peeper and throw open the door. The flight attendant’s concern changes to disgust when she takes in my appearance and the woman in front of me. She looks equally disheveled, although she’s not covered in blue toilet water like I am.
“It’s not what it looks like.” For once in my life it’s true, except based on our appearances, I sound like a liar.
The flight attendant rolls her eyes. “Both of you need to return to your seats now. The seatbelt sign is on.” She points to the lighted sign above the door.
Nut Peeper slinks out of the stall and wobbles down the aisle, banging into almost everyone as she goes, drawing more attention to me. People are already staring because of all the noise. Randy looks over the back of the seat and gives me a look like he disapproves of my choice. Dickhead.
“Sir, I won’t tell you again.” The flight attendant crosses her arms over her chest.
I gesture to the chick as she flops into her seat. “She fell into the bathroom when I was trying to leave, and then my phone fell in the toilet. My hands have been in that germ-infested water. I need to wash them. What if someone gets pink eye, or E.coli, or botulism?”
She just stares. She obviously doesn’t believe me.
“Why would I lie? Honestly. Come on. The only thing I’m responsible for is polluting the toilet.” She makes a TMI face, which I ignore. I don’t know why I want her to believe me so badly. I guess it’s just that for once I’m not being a dog, and I want some acknowledgement.
“None of this would have happened if she hadn’t gotten trapped in the bathroom with me. Just ask her. I wasn’t trying to mile-high it. Look at the size of me. I barely fit in one of these bathrooms. Take a whiff. It doesn’t smell like sex in there.”
I move to the side, and in doing this, I give her a full view of the damage. There’s water all over the place. But that’s not what puts a look of disgust on her face.
“Not trying to join the Club, huh?” She pulls a pen out of her pocket and lifts the spent condom out of the sink, holding it up for me to see.
“It’s not mine. I swear.”
Her eyes narrow, and she lowers her voice to a whisper. “I know who you are. I think what you’re doing is repulsive. I hope Waters sticks you in the throat for what you’re doing to his sister. You’re a disgrace to hockey.”
It’s the most demeaning insult a person can give me. What’s worse is that it’s centered on a misunderstanding. But I know how it all looks, and based on my reputation, I can see why she won’t believe what I have to say.
A few months ago, I probably would’ve gotten busy with that chick just to make the flight go by faster, but that was the old me. The new me keeps my hands to myself and keeps other people’s hands off me. The second part seems to be the most difficult. I only have control over my body parts, not anyone else’s.
I go to rub my face with my hand until I remember it’s got pee and chemicals on it.
In my peripheral vision, I spot a crack in the curtain they pull across to separate the first class passengers from the economy class. A teenage boy in the second row holds his phone above the seat. As soon as he sees me looking he lowers the phone a few inches and makes like he’s typing. I know better. After years of being caught doing things I shouldn’t, it’s not a surprise that someone’s recording this whole stupid episode.