I am a Scientist

I have never done it before, but the other day, I found that I had inadvertently grown salt crystals on my contact lens case.

Distractions

I don't think it's unreasonable of me to be disgusted by the countless number of disgusting things I've witnessed while being amongst the crowded streets and Subways of New York. There are things that I have seen that would make you cringe, and even more things that would probably make you gag. And the fact is that when you ride the Subway or get crammed into an elevator with a bunch of people, you are forced to get comfortable with discomfort. It's irritating and it's gross.

I'm pretty sure it has never been acceptable to fart in public, and yet, I'll be riding along and, all of a sudden, I'll smell it. Not cool. People seem to think their anonymity will keep them safe from being discovered. Perhaps it does. Perhaps I'm just too tired or angry at the moment to call out a group of people and accuse any one of them of this disgusting act of inconsideration. Sometimes you'll be walking outside, and people think that because they are in an open-air arena, they can just let one fly and continue walking. Not true! People behind them can still smell it!

In the manner of politeness, if you ever feel the need to pass gas in public, do everyone around you a favor and find a corner to submit your deposit into the atmosphere. Or hold it in, if you will not perish by doing so.

I wish that were the worst of the offenses I have seen in this fair city, but unfortunately, bodily fluids left out in public are as commonplace as seeing a candy wrapper or other litter lying around. Puddles of unidentified liquids are everywhere, and you always hope that it's water, but if it hasn't rained recently, chances are it's pee. On St. Patrick's Day, I sat with my cousin and observed a grown man urinate on the back of a van across the street in broad daylight.

A lot of times puddles are from dogs who have been out walking. This is a little more forgiving, as they don't have any other place to go. But the smell of urine hits you like a bag of dirt, and with summer just around the corner, it's only going to get worse before it gets better.

Farting and peeing and dead pigeons aside, I have seen more cases of public vomit in the city of New York than I care to recall. It is unbelievable. A lot of neighborhoods in Manhattan and a few in Brooklyn and Queens are regularly patrolled by custodians who sweep and maintain the sidewalks and entrances to stores and buildings. As part of the public works programs, neighborhoods are divided up into certain partnerships or alliances, and the businesses all take part in these programs to keep their areas cleaned. These areas are all places that tourists go. So even when you visit New York from outside and you think it's dirty, it could be a lot worse.

Needless to say, however, there is far more ground to be covered than could possibly be cleaned up by a finite number of men and women in any given time frame, and there is no way of knowing every time someone's puke hits the pavement. This is evident in every neighborhood, the ones that are patrolled or not. Anybody is capable of puking at any time, and, by God, it does happen.

I've seen puddles of all different breadth and pigment, some chunky, some soupy. In the bitter cold month of February, I've seen one puddle that was frozen to the sidewalk. I've seen people in the act up close and far away. Just tonight I watched a very healthy-looking man stand over a trash can and meticulously vomit, making sure to aim straight down into the hole of the receptacle. He was as aware of his actions and as polite as he possibly could have been, considering his having to throw up in public. It was nice that he did it in a trash can. He had track pants and headphones on. By the looks of it, I would say that he had to vomit as a result of his working out, as opposed to drinking too much, which would typically be the default suggested reasoning behind such a crime; but, for whatever reason, he did it. He puked in public. It was fun to watch, but still disgusting.

The worst incident I have yet encountered happened to me a few weeks ago when I was riding home on the Subway. I was leaning against the door as I typically do when there is not a seat available. The train was making it's usual stops, and a gentleman approached the doors as the train started to slow down upon reaching the station. He was standing just to the left of me facing out, while I was facing in. Before the train was able to stop, though, I heard it, the unmistakable sound of a solid-liquid hybrid slapping against the rubber floor of the Subway car. I instinctively dodged out of the way and hopped across to the other side of the car, where nobody was standing. The car stopped and the doors opened and I simultaneously turned to watch the man exit the car, vomit trailing behind him, as he made his way to the nearest trash can, slipping in his mess once before he reached it.

Thankfully, no residue splashed upon me, and I was left unscathed, except for the fact that I had to remain on the car with the stench of freshly-regurgitated stomach acid milling about until I reached my stop.

So, there you have it. As if New York weren't distracting enough, with it's bright lights, it's beautiful women, it's skyscrapers, it's excess of noise and commotion, you have to worry about things like this. You just never know when the guy standing right next to you might have to toss his cookies.

Distractions (Long-Winded and More Drawn-Out Ridiculous Version)

I don't think it's unreasonable of me to be disgusted by the countless number of disgusting things I've witnessed while being amongst the crowded streets and Subways of New York. There are things that I have seen that would make you cringe, and even more things that would probably make you gag. And the fact is that when you ride the Subway or get crammed into an elevator with a bunch of people, you are forced to get comfortable with discomfort. It's irritating and it's gross.

I'm pretty sure it has never been acceptable to fart in public, and yet, I'll be riding along and, all of a sudden, I'll smell it. Not cool. People seem to think their anonymity will keep them safe from being discovered. Perhaps it does. Perhaps I'm just too tired or angry at the moment to call out a group of people and accuse any one of them of this disgusting act of inconsideration. Sometimes you'll be walking outside, and people think that because they are in an open-air arena, they can just let one fly and continue walking. Not true! People behind them can still smell it!

In the manner of politeness, if you ever feel the need to pass gas in public, do everyone around you a favor and find a corner to submit your deposit into the atmosphere. Or hold it in, if you will not perish by doing so.

I wish that were the worst of the offenses I have seen in this fair city, but unfortunately, bodily fluids left out in public are as commonplace as seeing a candy wrapper or other litter lying around. Puddles of unidentified liquids are everywhere, and you always hope that it's water, but if it hasn't rained recently, chances are it's pee. On St. Patrick's Day, I sat with my cousin and observed a grown man urinate on the back of a van across the street in broad daylight.

A lot of times puddles are from dogs who have been out walking. This is a little more forgiving, as they don't have any other place to go. But the smell of urine hits you like a bag of dirt, and with summer just around the corner, it's only going to get worse before it gets better.

Farting and peeing and dead pigeons aside, I have seen more cases of public vomit in the city of New York than I care to recall. It is unbelievable. A lot of neighborhoods in Manhattan and a few in Brooklyn and Queens are regularly patrolled by custodians who sweep and maintain the sidewalks and entrances to stores and buildings. As part of the public works programs, neighborhoods are divided up into certain partnerships or alliances, and the businesses all take part in these programs to keep their areas cleaned. These areas are all places that tourists go. So even when you visit New York from outside and you think it's dirty, it could be a lot worse.

Needless to say, however, there is far more ground to be covered than could possibly be cleaned up by a finite number of men and women in any given time frame, and there is no way of knowing every time someone's puke hits the pavement. This is evident in every neighborhood, the ones that are patrolled or not. Anybody is capable of puking at any time, and, by God, it does happen.

I've seen puddles of all different breadth and pigment, some chunky, some soupy. In the bitter cold month of February, I've seen one puddle that was frozen to the sidewalk. I've seen people in the act up close and far away. Just tonight I watched a very healthy-looking man stand over a trash can and meticulously vomit, making sure to aim straight down into the hole of the receptacle. He was as aware of his actions and as polite as he possibly could have been, considering his having to throw up in public. It was nice that he did it in a trash can. He had track pants and headphones on. By the looks of it, I would say that he had to vomit as a result of his working out, as opposed to drinking too much, which would typically be the default suggested reasoning behind such a crime; but, for whatever reason, he did it. He puked in public. It was fun to watch, but still disgusting.

The worst incident I have yet encountered happened to me a few weeks ago when I was riding home on the Subway. I was leaning against the door as I typically do when there is not a seat available. The train was making it's usual stops, and a gentleman approached the doors as the train started to slow down upon reaching the station. He was standing just to the left of me facing out, while I was facing in. Before the train was able to stop, though, I heard it, the unmistakable sound of a solid-liquid hybrid slapping against the rubber floor of the Subway car. I instinctively dodged out of the way and hopped across to the other side of the car, where nobody was standing. The car stopped and the doors opened and I simultaneously turned to watch the man exit the car, vomit trailing behind him, as he made his way to the nearest trash can, slipping in his mess once before he reached it.

Thankfully, no residue splashed upon me, and I was left unscathed, except for the fact that I had to remain on the car with the stench of freshly-regurgitated stomach acid milling about until I reached my stop.

I was wondering what it was that could have made this man throw up so suddenly. I realized that perhaps my mere presence standing next to him was enough to bring him to sudden and uncontrollable nausea. Maybe it was the fact that as soon as I realized he was standing there, I asked him if he wanted to look at the open wound I had on the back of my hand.

I turned to him, saying "Hey, buddy, check this out!" while peeling back my bandage to reveal a pussy, oozing sore. I put it right in his face, so naturally, he threw up.

Or maybe it was that I was picking my nose, and I caught a big, slimy, green booger and proceeded to wipe it on the glass of the window right in front of his field of vision.

"Barf!"

Or maybe it was when I took the shoe and sock off my right foot so I could pick the toe jam out between my toes. I was holding my shoe and sock near his nose, and I probably leaned in a couple of times since I was trying to balance on one foot.

"Barf!"

Or maybe it was when I cracking my knuckles or clearing my pleghmy throat or squeaking my squeaky eye.

"Barf!"

Maybe it was that I asked him to hold my dead cat while I tied my shoe.

"Barf!"

It could have been any one of those things. Maybe I just wanted to see how far I could push it before I was able to make a grown man throw up.

The Subway is full of all sorts of distracting things though: advertisements with pictures of gross feet and skin disorders offering painless surgery or treatments that will make you beautiful again.

And speaking of beautiful, there are multitudes of beautiful women, of course. That goes without saying. This is New York, after all.

The other day I counted the number of women in one train car, which came out to around forty (I didn't keep exact count, because, let's face it, that would be creepy). Out of those forty ranging all ages and ethnicities, I would say that at least a third of them were pretty good-looking. I couldn't tell about some of them because they were facing the other way, but I'll give them the benefit of the doubt.

That means that at any given moment, the ratio of good-looking women is about 1 in 3. In some areas, it's even higher than that. It's not unusual to see three or four or a dozen beautiful women right in a row. As powerful as women can be in this city, be it as businesswomen, models, actresses, or waitresses, keeping up appearances is very important. And, speaking on behalf of the men of this city, we all appreciate it.

Another distraction that occurs quite frequently is that of people carrying things. Most people have a bag or a purse with them. I am typically with my mammoth book bag that carries everything I might need in the course of a day. I can get it down to a slimmer size, but it is usually pretty bulky. Other people have groceries, books, posters, bicycles, those annoying carts with things in them. When people try to bring these items on the Subway, needless to say, they take up a lot of extra space, and that can get limited, making people cranky.

People frequently carry musical instruments with them as well. There are obviously a lot of musicians in the city, and gigging around requires them to tote their instruments along with them wherever they go. You might think that I would see a lot of guitars or violins or trumpets, but I think the most popular instrument I've seen being taken for rides on the Subway is the string bass. I have seen so many string bass players wheeling their gargantuan instruments around, it really is quite remarkable and ironic. Aside from a piano or a harp, the string bass is probably the most massive instrument that is commonly played. And, of course, it is so necessary in a jazz group or a concert orchestra, that the string bass player needs to get there. But it's not going to fit in a cab, so the bass player is relegated to using the Subway. Or at least that's what it seems like to me.

The distractions in New York are endless. It is necessary to bring a book or an iPod with you most times, so you are able to distract yourself from its endless distractions. Otherwise you might get distracted, and then you would forget where you were going in the first place.

Skinny People

I don't get you, skinny people. I cannot relate to you in any stretch of the imagination. All the time I'm talking to you, I'm wondering how you accomplish anything from that small body. And yet the rest of the world adores you. And I wonder what makes you so great?

Don't you understand that not everybody else in the world is skinny? We weren't all born naturally with flat stomachs and protruding cheek bones. And while you strut around with your jeans that fall well below your belly button and show off your hips, and you wear your airy dresses that show off your shoulders and your skinny arms, the rest of us are left to wonder what the heck we're supposed to do to fit in with you "beautiful" types.

Not everybody thinks you're beautiful, you know. Not everybody thinks that clothing falling off of a skeleton is sexy. Some people, a lot of people, a lot of intelligent people like a person who has some stature to them. Some people, who are physical and real, like to have something to hold onto.

While you're out there being skinny and beautiful and smoking your cigarettes and doing art, you know what the rest of us are doing? Some of smoke cigarettes, too. Some of us do art, too. And some of us are exercising our butts off in order to get into shape to look as beautiful as you. And you know what? Exercise is hard. It always has been. From the first time you did real exercise, you knew you didn't like it. And so either you stopped and somehow remained naturally skinny, or you got fat like the rest of us.

We have to work really hard in order to get what we want out of life. We don't get everything handed to us like you skinny people. Not to say that some of you don't work hard, but the truth of the matter is, physically you have to work harder when you are carrying around more weight. You skinny people don't seem to understand that.

So you skinny people just keep going on and being skinny, but just so you know, while you are hanging around with the rest of your lookalikes, the rest of us who don't fit the archetype all secretly (or not so secretly) hate you.

The Multi-Functionality of the Human Body Makes For Awkward Social Interaction!

It really does, when you think about it.

The human body is such a wonder of science, an oddity of biology, it is an enigma of a structure to comprehend. It is so complex. Doctors and scientists have studied the human body for centuries and they still haven't figured it out. It's that complicated.

All of biology is complicated. It's a science, and as we all remember from grade school, science is hard. Why do things work the way they do? They just do. Oh.

SCIENCE!

Human biology is especially complicated. It is different than that of the biology of plants or animals or micro bacteria because we as humans can actually study it. Micro bacteria can't say that. Neither can chimps. Thus, as humans, we are responsible for all the knowledge of everything, from the most simple organisms to the most complex. And so we study it. We study everything. We study plants, fungi, undersea creatures, the mating habits of naked mole rats, and behavioral patterns exhibited when children play Parcheesi against one another.

Understandably we are intelligent. We have rational thought, which allows us to agree that we are smart and that we should use that good judgment to study and theorize about and experiment with things. It is also that intelligence and rational thought that allows to see ourselves as who we are as animals. Yes, we are animals, and as animals we have tendencies that must occur naturally even though we have to think about them.

Animals that are not human probably don't think about or even realize how functional their bodies are. They just follow their instincts to survive and reproduce and be merry. We, as humans, also use our instincts to survive and reproduce, but we also have this thing we've been placed in called society, that we are all supposed to be a functioning part of. As parts of this society, we are forced to interact with one another.

From time to time, we get placed in a situation where the multi-functionality of our bodies comes to mind. Take, for example, the situation where two men are in the restroom at respective urinals. These men are comfortable with each other any other time outside this setting, but since they are here together, exposed, relieving their bladders, at the same time, right next to each other...it becomes awkward.
Now, what makes this awkward? Is it because they are both peeing? Or is it because of what they are peeing with? This organ between each of their pairs of legs happens to be the organ males must use to pee, but it is also one particular organ used during the act of mating with the opposite sex. Multi-functionality presents itself. And since men are not biologically inclined to associate mating with being around other guys and peeing, it tends to get a bit uncomfortable.

This particular scenario is not the only occurrence when multi-functionality combats awkwardness. Another example, perhaps a more common one to comprehend, is one of the many examples presented to us by the expansive use of the mouth. The mouth is used in so many things. Two of those major functions are speaking and eating. When these two activities are performed in too close proximity to one another, it makes for awkwardness. Talking while eating has never been acceptable, unless you can do it in a discreet way where it doesn't seem like you are chewing while trying to carry on a conversation, even though you clearly have food in your mouth. Some people manage to pull this maneuver off. Sometimes, these things don't even have to be happening at the same time for it to prove awkward.

Say you are meeting someone to talk about something, but twenty minutes ago, the person you're meeting just polished off a big salad. So now, when you're trying to talk to this person, you can't take your eyes off the piece of spinach that happens to be shaped like the state of Idaho and clinging to this person's top front right tooth. Gross! And yet, no one needs to explain the multi-functionality of his or her own body. It is evident, because we all take advantage of it.

The mouth as a platform of many functions brings about even more challenges when the activity of kissing comes into play. Kissing has long been used as a form of affection for human beings. There are many forms of it, from the gentle kissing of greetings to the prolonged kissing of more intimate activities. But nobody wants to kiss somebody whose breath smells like garlic, nobody! Not even for a second. Boy, was that ever awkward!

Kissing even counters speaking at times. The question, "do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" comes to mind.

Multi-functionality is put into use all over our bodies. Especially in the hands and feet.
"Don't touch me with those hands, I don't know where they've been!"

This is why you are supposed to wash your hands from time to time.
or
"You want me to massage your feet? Well, that's just great. Your feet...they're pretty, they're cute, they even have a nice bit of nail polish on the toes there. But haven't they been in your shoes...under the entire weight of your body...walking around...all day?!"

The multi-functionality of the human body has been key to our survival for so long. Just think about all the things the human body is capable of, especially when paired with the human mind. It does great things. It does amazing things. Think about all the things each individual part of the body does. It's amazing! It's wonderful. But, true, it can be a bit awkward at times. It can.

Seinfeld Paralleled

It's funny how being in New York reminds you of a Seinfeld episode. I've always considered my life to be something like a Seinfeld episode. I think everyone does, generally speaking. Seinfeld is one of those shows that is relative to just about anyone, and it is even more relevant to people in New York. Obviously, that is due to the fact that the show takes place in New York.

My own life seems to take peculiar parallels to it, interestingly. And while there are certain things in the show that are truly unbelievable, there are other things you find out when you live here that are exactly like in the TV show.

Personally, I've always had trouble with which character of the show I identify with the most. I could be Jerry, because I tend to find an observational humor about things in any situation, probably something I developed after watching episode after episode of the show. I could be George, who I've always thought of myself in years past as a result of my neuroticism and ineptitude with the ladies, but as I grew older, I felt I grew to contain those Larry David-like tendencies quite a bit so they wouldn't become a dominant part of my personality. I could also be Kramer, because anyone who knows me knows of my never-ending stream of hair-brained schemes and my lack of desire to hold a job. I can't really relate to Elaine, mostly because I'm male and she is female, but, surprisingly enough, I do have a friend named Elaine (who saw that coming?!) and we talk about EVERYTHING! Much like in the show.

My apartment is set up in a way that invites an observer's eye, decorated with seemingly random objects (though no bicycle). It appears as if a sit-com could definitely be taking place there. And if you took out one wall, you'd have a perfect stage setting for one comedic enterprise after another. The one thing that is different about Jerry's and my apartment is that it is not the focal point or frequent meeting place of a lot of social interaction. Sure, my roommates and I have people over every once in a while, but it does not entertain the constant flow of people in and out with their own individual stories to tell as Seinfeld's does. The roommates each share a certain amount of this space together, rarely any collective time together, though we do swap stories and opinions as a result of our proximity.

I think the apartment would be more of a meeting place if we were located in a more centralized location that was convenient for everyone to get to. As of now, it is more of a destination than a hang-out spot, so people can't casually come in and out unless they are in the neighborhood.

Some of the things in the show are very accurately depicted as typical occurrences in New York City. For example, there is never a shortage of weird, crazy people to interact with. Sometimes you have no choice, sometimes they just start interacting with you, and you just have to go with it. New York is expert at putting any typical person in a situation he/she has not encountered before, and therefore might think it bizarre and/or funny. Seinfeld as a TV show could never have run out of ideas of outrageous situations for people to get in to. It is a perfect window into the psyche and behavioral patterns of people, bystanders or activators, when placed in the metropolitan, cosmopolitan environment that is New York City.

Of course people have their favorite coffee shops, or restaurants they like to go to, but Seinfeld also showed us how vastly different food can be, and how weird interacting with people can be in the quest for food.

It also displayed how varietal life can be when in the quest for a mate. Dating was a common theme in Seinfeld, and just as predicted, it is weird here. It is very difficult to do considering how unpredictable people are, how expensive everything is, and how distances become so long even when they're not at all.

One of the things that I never believed would happen in New York, but that happened all the time on Seinfeld, was people running into each other on the street. One would think that New York is too big a place with so many people running around all the time for it to even be possible to run into someone you know completely at random. But it does! I've run into people all the time. You meet somebody, and then you hang out in the same neighborhoods, you ride the same trains, it's bound to happen sometime.

What people refuse to believe about New York is that, while it is enormous, it is still, at heart, a small town. Everything about it has a small town atmosphere, if you ignore the skyscrapers and taxicabs everywhere.

It may be hard to believe, but it's easy to see why that show was so successful, because so much of it was based on real life. And as we all know, real life is very funny.

I Think I'm Going To Try And Go To Bed Early Tonight

...like that ever works!

Not One Moment

The washroom, the john, the bathroom, the water closet, the toilet, the latrine is a place where all people go more than a few times within their lives. And no matter by what name it is called, all the same things happen there. Some very basic principles of human biology, both sacred and revolting, bring people together by way of necessity into the social, yet awkward gathering place that is the public restroom.

No two restrooms are the same. They all have something different about them. Aside from the obvious differences between male and female restrooms, there are amenities and effects in certain public restrooms that make them more or less accommodating than others. Some have automatic toilets, while others have diaper-changing stations. Some restrooms offer individual seat covers, some offer electric hand dryers, foam soap, or bathroom attendants. Some restrooms offer automatic sinks, but fail to offer the automatic hand dryer, which ultimately shoots the idea of cleanliness in the foot. Some bathrooms offer paper towels that are packed too tightly and you have to pick them out piece after confetti-sized piece. Some public toilets offer a fate or a vagrancy that you would have never anticipated going in there.

Some restrooms are more public than others, some are shared or have restricted access, but the principle is the same, you have to share this bathroom with strangers. The bathrooms you are obliged to use as work or at school or while out shopping or traveling are never maintained the way you would maintain your own bathroom. But then again, you wouldn't have that many people coming through to use your restroom in the first place. No, you are out in the world, and therefore you have to share the miracle of indoor plumbing with your fellow citizens. You have to share their space, their odors, their cleanliness or their lack thereof. You have to share their manners, their behavior, their reasons for doing or not doing what you think is important. You have to share the moment of looking at somebody knowing exactly what he or she is going to do knowing exactly what you just did and determine whether you think it's relevant or not to look this person in the eye or say "hello."

Many people can get a lot accomplished in the john. Some people bring the newspaper or a book, or something more personal that they had to attend to. Some people write graffiti while sitting there while still others think of great things to theorize or hypothosize about. You clear your mind as your clear your bowels. You can really get a load off while...letting a load off.

As you open the door and enter into the room, that familiar smell of human waste and cleaning compounds hits your nose, that is unless you're entering a women's restroom, in which case I can only imagine it smells overwhelmingly like peaches and floral arrangements.

You're going there with one thing in mind, to relieve this pressure that has been building in your midsection over the course of the last few hours, intensifying over the last few minutes. As you make your way towards your favorite stall, you appear to have the whole place to yourself, and so you take your time making ready your seat. You lock the door behind you, and begin to anticipate the relief you are about to feel. Your belt comes unbuckled, and your trousers slide down, and as you begin to get seated, you hear it. Somebody else is coming in!

You freeze up and your body tenses as the door comes flying open, pushed open by a whistling, lackadaisical patron of your restroom, the one you were so sure you had to yourself. For a moment, you think maybe this guy just has to go pee, and you could sit here unnoticed, silent, and wait for him to leave.

For some reason it becomes crucial for this person, this stranger, not to know what you're doing in there. It would be objectionable to accomplish what you came to accomplish knowing that somebody else is going to be witness to it. What you're about to do is best kept private, and even though you know that this other person knows what's going on, even though he is as well aware of your bodily functions as you are of his, it becomes so embarrassing to make the noises your body has to make, despite the fact that every body makes those noises.

He doesn't just stand at the urinal for thirty seconds and get out of there. He pulls open a door and plants himself right down alongside you, giving you only the space that the partition allows. With every creak of the door or the squeak of his leather shoe against the linoleum, you can picture the motion that goes along with every sound, and you follow him along in your mind going through the process that gets him to where you are.

For some reason, though, he seems so much more comfortable than you, and without reservation, he lets it fly. You sit there in silence and extreme discomfort as you are forced to listen to what goes on next to you. It seems as if the sound is amplified when you most do not want to hear it. You hear the rustling of fabric as he makes himself comfortable, you hear sniffling and grunting, as he clears his throat, you hear heavy breathing as he forces the muscles together and out again. The pushing, the squeezing, the tightening and releasing. You hear the unmistakable plop of solid hitting liquid, the muffled echo of a mass dropping into a sealed basin of water. It makes a tiny splash. You can't see it or feel it, but you know it's there. It's just over there, just beyond this small, thin divider that is mere inches away from your face.
All the while beads of sweat start rolling down your back. Your knees begin shaking from holding steady for so long. The pain is increasing as the pressure is so close to its exit but still being forced to stay where it is. You don't even notice that you've been holding your breath, and then suddenly, you can't hold it any longer. A little bit slips out, perhaps some gas, and then a little more, until you reach a point of no return and nothing can save you from the embarrassment any longer. It rushes out in a fury, as a front line of soldiers charging towards battle, and the battle cry can be heard by one and all, unifying the force as one until it reaches its murky depths.

Relief washes over you as you wipe the sweat from your brow. You breathe again, not that you'd want to, because it smells terrible. Nevertheless, it smells like victory and you take it in in full, without hesitation.

You wonder if the gentleman next door heard it, and hope that somehow he might have magically disappeared in those few seconds, but the sound of unraveling paper assures your suspicion that he was right alongside you the whole way through.

He finishes, he cleans up, he leaves, and then you do the same. You wash your hands (with soap) and check your appearance in the mirror before you exit. Shaking your head, you throw away your crumpled up paper towel, you open the door, and you leave.

In a city like New York, even in the safe refuge of a bathroom, it's hard to find even one moment of privacy.