February 22, 2007
Overhearing a group of people talk about what I'd just done in the train bathroom made my face start to sweat as I squirmed in my seat. “Be fair to yourself,” I thought. “It’s not your fault.” The toilet would not flush the first, second or third time. The water level got higher, “and that’s not your fault.” I also couldn't help that it was apparently the only bathroom in the train not taped off for service.
The group was laughing with narrow-eyed, rounded-mouth looks that made me slowly ease down in my seat. “Wait a second,” I thought, “I’ve done nothing wrong.” I pretended that I didn’t know what was going on and sat up straight, feigning innocence. I still sensed incriminating vibes from across the aisle, from those four English-speaking people, also headed to Paris on the train. I needed a new strategy. Turning my head a couple of inches toward them, I pulled a half-caulked smirk as I looked down the aisle, suggesting, “Yeah, can you believe it in there? I mean, come on!” They were not buying it. I was the last person to come back to my seat from the direction of the WC.
Throwing up my mental hands, I frowned and turned to stare out the window. “What am I supposed to do?” This is the point
where I began whispering to myself and considering my courses of action. It’s either, I leap out of my seat into the aisle and yell, “Boo-yah,” with index fingers pointed in their faces; or, I jerk the window down and jump out into the Alsacian countryside head first. The tall guy with long hair pulled into a ponytail, raised himself out of his seat saying, “I gotta go check this out.” He came back a minute later shaking his head and laughing.
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