A traveler’s confession
I have a confession. I have used airport bathrooms. I have put my bag in front of the door. And if the Muzak was the Bee Gees or something, I might have even tapped my feet. I think I even did it in Minneapolis. I know that I’ve done it at Reagan National in Washington D.C.
I have used a wide stance. I may have even scratched myself.
Fortunately, nobody has touched my foot or reached under my stall. Of course, had they reached under my stall I probably would’ve mistook their intentions and thought they were after my overnight bag. The resulting broken wrist, while still deserved, would certainly have caused me some embarrassment later when it was explained why he thought it was okay to reach into my stall.
So let me say, in the immortal words of Senator Larry Craig, I am not gay. And now that I have a list of things I should not do in the men’s room in airports and other public accommodations, I’m sure I’ll avoid any future confusion on the subject.