I have made many a friend in front of the sinks of Cafe Carolina. There must be something about that abnormally small stall that was clearly intended for infants and double jointed lady folk that forms bonds and lifelong friendships. Thumbs up to the man with a Grade A digestive tract that designed that mess. My intestines thank you, as do my friends posted up in a booth waiting on me to get my life together.
I digress.
It is safe to say Cafe Carolina bathroom stalls, in essence, represent a caste system of bodily functions. Bodily needs, if you will. Let me explain.
SUDRA: The tiny stall may be a tunnel of doom, but it is accessible. Ladies, please. If you simply had too much Diet Coke, be a pal. Practice your fetal position and get going. Don't consider yourself an outcast, but understand that your importance is minimal in this context. It is the number one stall for a reason. Just saying.
VIASYA: Now, we've reached the middle stall. Hey, middle stall. You're a little lanky and awkward, but in comparison to the runt next to you, you are definitely the prettier sister. The proverbial middle sibling. No one hates you, but no one wants you. You secretly hope that your big sister will overflow or get clogged with feminine products and although you appreciate the unfortunate state of your little sis, you're still jealous of how much everyone talks about her. Attention hungry son of a potty. You just can't win.
BHRAMIN: One step further and we now find ourselves at the glorious handicap stall. Look at its magnitude, all big and spacious. The hot older sister married into royalty. Her man is a priest and whatever happens once her door is closed is nothing less than holy. Amen to that.
Who deserves to sit upon such a royal throne, you ask? Is it for the elite? Is it for the unfortunate? Is it first come first serve? Some people say that the stall should remain empty unless the threshold is passed by wheel, crutch or cane. I, however, am not one of those people. If it is the only available option, please help yourself! In most public restrooms, as long as there is no wheelchair in sight, I am going for the gold. Without doubt. I must say though that I do, in fact, consider myself as one of the deserving elite. Pretentious? Sure. I may be better than you, but your insides are better than mine. We'll call it even for now.
Public restrooms in general? I am just a commoner. Sudra Stephanie.
Cafe Carolina? Bhramin, baby. It is safe to say the third stall is mine. I do not care if every other stall is empty, I will wait until my second abode third commode is available. Duly note that piece of information and let us move on.
Now that we have that out of the way, let's talk about bathroom etiquette:
- Unless you are with child or aiding and abetting in a toddler's potty time, there should be only one person in a stall at one time. That makes sense, right? One toilet. One person. One time. I mean, it adds up to me.
- As you are one person, using one bathroom stall, please keep in mind that every bathroom user has a mission. That mission is to get in, get out and make way for the next paying customer. (This mission may or may not be similar to that of a prostitute. Just saying.) Please do not partake in questionable activities or send lengthy emails from your squatted position. People are waiting.
- Men's restrooms are for boys. Women's restrooms are for girls. They have signs for a reason. No, there are not typically separate bathrooms available for the androgynous people of Raleigh, however I don't think there have been too many issues with that. I am guessing eeny, meeny, miny and moe are utilized and life goes on.
These are my three main rules. They seem easy enough, right? I don't like when people break my rules. When one or more of these very simple rules are violated, we have issues. That is all I'm saying.
As I mentioned, I tend to build relationships over soap dispensers and toilet paper shortages. It is what I do best. Sunday afternoon I met an older lady who I contemplated adopting as my third grandmother. My life could have easily changed for the better as I stood in front of the paper towels that day. Conversation commenced from a shirt compliment and ten minutes later I walked out holding a business card of her event planning daughter. That may seem sketchy, but she was wearing Lilly head to toe so I legitimized it and moved on.
Onward.
Just days after I came face to face with everything that I hope to be in 50 years, I found myself standing in front of those same paper towels. With my friends finishing dinner on the other side of the restaurant, I had excused myself to study a little Hinduism. Eager to see what the bathroom had in store for me this day, I was somewhat disappointed that there seemed to be no other avid bathroom goers like myself present. I walk to my stall of choice and turn the handle, but it is locked. Locked!? Empty bathroom with a locked door? Unacceptable. I try again with a little more power. Laughter erupts from behind the castle door. Excuse me, rude. I am not laughing. I want my stall. I apologize and back away feeling a hint of remorse for trying to barge in on someone doing something rather personal. Rather than an acknowledgment of my awkward apology, I hear whispering. I'm sorry. At no point was whispering ever mentioned in the mission statement. Rule breaker #1. Oddly enough, this specific whispering involved more than one person. Rule breaker #2. One voice is deeper than the other. Ok, sketch. Rule breaker #3. Confused and slightly uncomfortable, I summon myself to the first stall due to the temporary unavailability of the middle sister. After I close my stall door and settle into the cave I hear the mansion door swing open. I look down and watch four feet shuffle past my door. Two lady feet. Two very not lady feet. Illegal much?
I am working on my presentation that I had planned to give my friends as to what had just happened while I wash my hands. Assuming the lovebirds or whatever they were had fled the scene, I walk out of the bathroom area both extremely upset that my stall had been occupied and in awe of what had just occurred. I spot my friends across the main room, but look to my right because I felt someone looking at me. I glance over to find four very unfortunate eyes staring back at me. A seemingly young boy and girl are sitting across from each other at one of the booths right next to the bathroom hallway. They are holding hands from across the table. Seriously? I do a double take and the girl looks away, however the boy keeps his eyes locked. Perhaps it would have been a social norm for me to break eye contact and continue on. Yea, about that. Two problems: 1. I am still pretty upset about my throne being stolen so any communicative standard has officially been dismissed. 2. I am pretty sure the words social and normalcy have never been uttered (or comprehended) by either one of these cute kids.
I pass their table, but because I am neither senile or 100% deaf, I hear their comments as I continue on. Due to the criticism and content of said remarks, I have a few observations of my own.
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Homegirl,
Ok, I know you've got some elaborate justification worked out about standards of beauty and how the holes in your face would look totally normal to the Uighurs of Western China, but you have to realize that they get bored out there. You, however, have no excuse. As for your pants. You are not wearing any. No shoes, no shirt, no service. I know, I know. Pants were not mentioned. Their mistake, my correction. Please put on pants. The snow last week may have not been a very clear indicator, but it is, in fact, winter. Don't worry. Your boyfriend was right! That is a good look. Just know by good look I mean destitute middle-aged Ukrainian prostitute who has been walking directly into the wind for three months to numb the pain of her aerated face.
Please tell your boyfriend that, yes, I am the girl that was in the bathroom. Yes, I knew he was in there. No, I'm not going to tell the manager. I know the high school mentality of tattling seems appropriate, however this is real life. I'm sure he is an amazing boyfriend and knows all the right angles to use and Photoshop effects to apply for the perfect MySpace profile picture, but I don't like him. I hate to tell you this, but his ambitions of becoming a roadie for My Chemical Romance will inevitably fail. He will take all of your black eyeliner and when you confront him about it he will break up with you. His new girlfriend will look even more scary than you do and all you will have left are sweet Cafe Carolina bathroom memories and that 7mm gauge he gave you for your two week anniversary. Just saying.
With all my love,
Girl with the ugly pink rain boots.
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In conclusion:
- The demographics of Cafe Carolina vary (like woah) depending on time and day.
- I like my pink rain boots.
- Question my actions and insult me? I question your integrity and insult your boyfriend.
- Please keep all sketchy bathroom behavior at home or in restaurants that I don't go to.
- The handicap stall is mine. The end.