Thoughts on Public Restrooms

1- People making conversation with me while one or the other, or both of us is locked in a stall, doing our business. Not cool. Not okay.

2- People talking on their cell phones while locked in a stall doing their business. Those poor unsuspecting folks on the other end. Suddenly the echoey conversation becomes lost in an great rushing of water. The realization hits. Weird.

3- One-ply toilet paper. It's the worst thing in the world. It just means that I have to get twice as much. Is that really saving you anything? I think not.

4- The toilet-paper-on-the-shoe phenomenon. I saw this for the first time in real life the other day. A lady I know was on her way out of the restroom while I was washing my hands. I glanced down just in time to see a string of toilet paper trailing behind her. The surprise was so great I didn't have time to tell her before she was out the door. I wonder how long it was there before she noticed? Hmmm...

5- I was in JFK airport and I went to find a restroom. The one I found was one of those that has a common entry, but then the ladies' and gentlemen's rooms split to either side of each other. For a moment, I thought it was one of those unisex restrooms I've heard of. I almost turned and left. If I were a more evolved person, I'm sure I wouldn't care. But I'm not and I do. I would rather hold it than go to a restroom with strange men. Don't you fret, though. I soon realized it was, in fact, a normal restroom.

Have a nice day.

The Secretary Files: A Plague

Every summer the employee break room at my office becomes a disgusting, festering hot bed of revolting, ghastly plague! I'm not talking about a plague that everyone catches and dies. It's more like one of the Plagues of Egypt. In fact, it was one of the Plagues of Egypt.

The Plague of Flies.

Gross, huh? I don't know how they get in here, but they do and they're everywhere! At any given time there are probably 10 or so live ones buzzing furiously around the windows. Then they die and their rotting, shriveling carcasses litter the windowsills and floors.

They also make their way into the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. The silhouettes of death.

I don't know if the custodians of the building don't put this room on their daily rotation or if they're too terrified to enter, but the fly body count keeps rising. I don't want to sound like I'm blaming the custodians. Maybe the expectation is that the employees should take care of their own space. Fair enough.

One time, one of my co-workers went up there to heat up her lunch in the microwave. She said she opened it and a fly flew out. I died a thousand deaths.

Anyway, I pretty much avoid that room altogether this time of year. I only went in to take pictures. You're welcome.

Saying Please Doesn't Make You Polite

Have you ever spoken to someone and they're saying "Please" and "Thank you" but they have a tone and demeanor that says "Hurry up and do what I want" and "I don't like you"? They think they're being polite, but they're really arrogant, condescending, patronizing, selfish, and rude. I would rather have a box full of over-ripe greasy brown bananas hovering 2 feet from my nose for an entire month than talk to people like that.

Nerd

I went to a movie with my brother Dylan. There was this preview for a movie about a bunch of really attractive young adults who go on a summer vacation to a lake. Things seem to be perfect, until they all start getting picked off by what appear to be sharks. The kids are like totally freaking out because what in the world are sharks doing in a lake?!

I leaned over to Dylan and said, "They're freshwater bull sharks."

A few moments passed. Dylan leaned over to me and replied, "Nerd."

I Must Look Like a Spouse

As of this weekend, I've been mistaken for my dad's wife/significant other twice, my brother Derek's once and now, my baby brother Dylan's once. Uhhh... Weird. Gross. I don't get it. I'm positive I'm not overly affectionate with my family members. Any of my brothers will tell you I'm exactly opposite that. Touching= Germ Transmission. Germ Transmission= Gross. Therefore, Touching= Gross. Just kidding! Kind of.

I don't know why strangers think I'm "with" my siblings and father. I guess once you reach a certain age around here, it's just assumed that you must be married. And if you go anywhere one-on-one with someone of the opposite sex, it's impossible that you might be friends or siblings or PARENT and CHILD.

I give you these excruciating stories in chronological order.

Example 1- I was 20 years old. Which makes this even creepier. I looked like a 17 year old at 20. I probably reached age 20 in looks at age 25. Although, I was mistaken for a high schooler earlier this year. Another story for another time. Anyway, I had gone with my dad to his hometown for an event honoring his old high school football coach. We were sitting there in the bleachers when a lady in front of us turned around and noticed my dad sitting there. Old friend exclamations started flying. "Oh my gosh! It's been so long! How've you been?!" etc... She then looked over at me with a smile and asked my dad, "Is this your wife?" I think I probably made a weird face and my dad kind of laughed it off saying, "Uh, no. This is my daughter." Awkward! They didn't talk for much longer after that.

Example 2- I went with my brother Derek to a western outfitter store. He wanted some sweet "go to meetin'" boots, and I went to help him choose. A nice lady was helping us. Derek would see a style he liked and she'd go to the back to get his size. He tried on a few pairs of boots and then we deliberated. The nice lady walked up just as I said of the boots he was presently wearing, "I like those ones. I think you should go with those." Derek agreed. She decided to throw in her two cents, saying to me, "Now all he needs is a hat and some Wranglers like Jason Aldean, right, Mama?" (wink and smile). I kind of stopped for a second and tried to decide what to say. I didn't want to embarrass her by correcting her when she was trying to be cute and funny. I certainly didn't want to agree with her, thereby confirming her suspicion of our marital status and implying that I thought my brother looked as hot as a country singer when wearing western garb. Shudder! I settled on a weak laugh and smile.

Example 3- I once went shopping for a new mattress set. My dad came with me. It's alright. Go ahead. Ewwwwwww!!! We walked into the store where a salesperson met us. I said, "Hi. I'm looking for a queen size mattress set." He smiled and nodded, then gestured for us to follow him. He said, "Okay now. Is this for the two of you?" I scrunched my nose and looked at my dad. I said as politely as I could, "No. No. Just me." It was all I could do to not pantomime sticking my finger down my throat and make a retching sound. I'm so grown up. I guess what we learn from this is that my dad looks like the kind of guy that marries himself a ridiculously young trophy wife and I look like the kind of girl who gets herself a sugar daddy.

Example 4- The time: this weekend. The place: The Golden Hills Restaurant in Mt. Carmel, Utah. My little brother Dylan and I were traveling down to Kanab together. We stopped for a little refreshment. Golden Hills has the most delicious scones. The restaurant was mostly empty. Only two other tables were occupied besides our own. One by one the other couples left.

Halfway through our meal, the server came up to our table and asked, "How is everything for you guys? Doing alright?" "Yes, it's great! Thank you!" we replied. Then she said, "I just want to let you know that that gentleman who left here a few minutes ago paid for your entire meal." My voice went up about two octaves and my hand flew to my heart, which had just grown 3 sizes. "Are you serious?! Oh my gosh, that is just the sweetest thing! I can't believe it! Why did he do that, I wonder?" The server smiled, sort of nervously and said, "Well, I'm not sure about this, but he said, 'Looks like love.'"

Then we gasped. Then we laughed. A lot. I reached across the table and took Dylan's hand. "Uh, this is my little brother." Dylan said, "And we do love each other very much." We all laughed uncomfortably for a moment. The kind man was long gone, so I couldn't thank him, but I left the server a big tip to try to pay it forward. Even though it was one of the most heart-warming, faith-in-humanity-restoring moments of my life, I felt a little guilty. He did it because he thought we were young and in love. And we are siblings. So he was wrong. His kindness was misplaced. I felt bad. Also, really good. Next time I go out, I'm doing that for someone. It was the best.

So there you have it. I'm not offended at all by the assumptions. They're fair and natural. But you have to admit it's a little weird.

A Totally Rational Fear

Here's the thing. For as long as I can remember I've had a deep and abiding fear of spiders. I can hear your eyes rolling from here! "Oh, brother!" you might say. "She's such a girly wimp. They have exoskeletons for goodness sake! You're 500 times bigger than them! Just smush them!" And your words would seem like wisdom but for the terror I feel every time I see one!

I once asked my mom if she remembered a particular moment in my life when the seed of fear may have been planted. She thought for moment and then recounted an incident. When I was a baby we went over to my grandparents' house. Their basement has always been an area of great concern to me because they get big, gray, hairy wolf spiders down there. Anyway, I had wriggled away from my mom while we were down there watching TV and crawled around, exploring the carpet beneath my little hands and knees. After a few minutes my mom thought she should probably locate me and check on me. She spotted me in a corner across the room with something in my hand moving toward my mouth. She jumped up to stop me and as she grew nearer she realized it was, of course, a big dead wolf spider, at which point she freaked out and probably squealed and smacked it from my chubby grasp. Shocked and startled, I started screaming and crying and the whole thing turned into a big trauma-fest. Who knows? Maybe this one incident in my very early development set me on course to have spider issues for the rest of my life.

It certainly didn't help that the room I inhabited for a dozen years seemed to be a spider migration zone. Over the years, I've gotten very good at spider-spotting. The second I enter a room, I can locate any spider on the floor or the walls and I know very well where the unseemly beasts may be hiding. When one would show it's ugly face, I would do the only possible thing: call for my daddy or nearest sibling to come take care of it for me. They tell me I have a "spider voice". They always know when I'm calling to them to rescue me from a spider situation. Sounds bogus to me.

I know you think I'm ridiculous. That my fear is unfounded and completely irrational. But I can tell you positively and without question that you are wrong. One deep, dark night my fear was realized and my phobia validated.

About five or six years ago, I was home on a short break from college. I had settled for the night in the bed of my childhood. All was dark and quiet when suddenly I was awakened from a deep sleep. There was a very loud crackling sound. My right ear was behaving very strangely. Half asleep, I reasoned that my ear must be experiencing some rare pressure thing and that it would be over any second. Then I felt an intense tickling, such as you feel when water runs out of your ear after you've been swimming. As gross as it seems, I thought maybe I was having an earwax explosion or something. But then the tickle stopped halfway through my ear canal and turned back around and went back into my ear where the loud crackling continued! Horrified, I snapped clean out of my stupor and leapt out of bed. I realized immediately what was going on! I ran up the stairs faster than I ever thought possible to my dad's bedside. In a manic whisper I said, "Dad! DAD! THERE'S A CREATURE INSIDE MY HEAD!!!"

He snapped awake and then lay back down thinking I was having a bizarre dream. "Go back to bed, Lacey."

"I'm not kidding!" I said, my voice shaking uncontrollably. "I can feel it running around!" I think he was convinced when I started violently smacking the side of my head trying to force it out. I was out of control. Every moment it became more and more unbearable. I don't remember everything that happened from there. I know I must have sworn at least a few times, because my dad mentioned it a few days later, crestfallen. I think I was crying and head banging on my hands and knees at one point. All I know is I felt completely insane. All I could think of was the thing in my head running around and around on my eardrum. My dad tried to shine a flashlight in my ear to see if it would follow the light out, but to no avail. Finally, whimpering, I threw on some clothes and we jumped in the car to head to the emergency room.

We hadn't been driving 5 minutes when I suddenly felt that intense tickling again! It was far out enough that I started brushing madly at my ear. I touched the beast with my hand! I felt it fall out! "STOP THE CAR!!!" I shouted. We pulled over and got out. We started searching wildly for the culprit. I focused on my clothes as my dad searched the seats and pulled up the floor mats. Now, I know what you're thinking. "Evidence, Lacey! Where's the evidence?!" I must regretfully tell you that I have none. We never did find the creature that turned my peaceful rest into a nightmare. But I'm not insane! And I would never make this up! I know what I felt that night and I know it was real!

It was so real, in fact, that for months I couldn't sleep at night. I would wake up from hideous spider nightmares, leaping out of my bed. I had no peace of mind. I tried everything from tissue and cotton in my ears to wearing a scarf around my head at night, but nothing worked. And so, in the most extreme phobic reaction I've ever heard of, I invented a thing of true beauty. I call them ear hats. Oh look! Here they are now!

They wrap snuggly and comfortably around my ears. After six months of wearing these babies at night, my sleeping habits were restored to normal and my dreams became tranquil visions once again. My college roommates had some interesting things to say about them. Some laughed me to scorn, some asked me to make them a pair after hearing my horrifying tale. I don't wear them regularly any more. Only after intense spider situations or when camping do I break them out of their drawer.

I guess my point in sharing this story is to tell you that a fear of creepy, crawly things is not irrational by any means. Those things can wreak absolute havoc in your life. So have a little respect for those of us who carry the fear. We are the ones who know the truth. It's only a matter of time before they come after you.

My First Kill

Today I am full of sorrow and guilt. I must report that I am a destroyer. I have snuffed the life out of one of God's creatures and left it a smeared mess on the highway. I did not do this horrible thing on purpose. It was completely unintentional. Up to this point the only things I've ever killed have been various bugs- houseflies, an ant here and there, spiders (shudder). But an actual intelligent creature, never.

It all started when I left my folks' house late last night. I opened the door to exit through the garage. A strong odor reached my nostrils immediately. The smell was unmistakeable! There was a skunk nearby! I tip-toed through the garage with heightened senses, ready to bolt at the slightest shuffle on the pavement or flash of black and white fluff. I reached my car unscathed and breathed a sigh of relief. If only I had know then that what I had just experienced was a dark omen of things to come.

I was driving down the dark highway. I was enthusiastically singing along to 10cc's "The Things We Do For Love". Some of the harmonies in that song are a little difficult and require a lot of focus to nail. I was at such a moment in the song... "You think you're gonna break up, then she says she wants to make up..." Suddenly a little black and white creature scampered into the beam of my headlights. There was nothing to be done. There was no way I was going to swerve. I know better than that. It was too close to slam on the brakes. I braced myself for the inevitable. I took my foot off the gas and let out a long high-pitched scream... THUNK THUNK! "Ooooooh..." Then I was overcome by the most powerful odoriferous stench of my life! I could hardly breathe! My eyes were watering! I rolled down the windows even though it was cold outside. The shivering was a small price to pay for not having to breathe that thick, poisonous air!

I had to share my ordeal with someone. Still in shock, I called up my brother to tell him. My tone was somewhere between stunned laughter and horrified guilt. After the expected, "Ew, gross! Does it smell? etc..." he closed the conversation with, "Well, congratulations on your first kill."

My first kill, indeed. It keeps playing over and over in my mind. It's all I can think about. I'll always be haunted by the beady-eyed, furry little guy whose remains now lie in the middle of Pioneer Crossing. And probably a little in the tread of my tire.