I stood before the white porcelain taking care of business silently. My stare was straight ahead, focused on the egg-shell tiles that have never been cleaned in the fourteen years they have hung on the wall.
The sound of the door latch clicks and seconds later the door pounds shut.
There is a presence beside me. I focus on the wall avoiding eye contact of any kind.
He breaks the code and speaks “Gorgeous day out there.”
I grunt positive at his cheerful comment. Finishing the task I turn in the opposite direct and walk to the sink for some deep cleaning.
“You know” his chipper tone continues “this is the day the Lord has made.”
My attention turns from washing my hands to the man at the other end of the bathroom, He stands with joyful glee in his Birkenstocks, dark dress socks, khaki shorts, polo shit including alligator with collar up, and long brown pony tail compensating for the friar tuck bald spot.
In an instant I am taken back to Sunday school, the years of bible versus memorized, books of the bible put to song, hours on end standing in the house of God. But I can only think to myself – so many fucking hippies in this world.
He knows nothing of what I think. I flash a smile, rinse my hands and finish his quote “I will rejoice and be glad in it.”
Hippy turns to me as I quickly try to exit. His look is of surprise. Maybe because I knew the phrase and the other one-hundred and two times he has tried this little trick in public rest rooms the outcome was different. Maybe it is my surly tone. I am happy for him, that he can enjoy his day for whatever reason – but there is work for me to do, and talking to me in the men’s room is a bad habit to start; even if the big guy is on your side.