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Let me start by sharing with you a particular issue I have; I tremble at the mere sight of public restrooms. Actually, to say I tremble would be an understatement. I have such severe disdain for the space where people share bodily functions publicly, that I’ll hold my own urges for hours just to avoid sitting between those thin steel walls that attempt to give me a false sense of security and privacy.

Of all the public restrooms, ‘church restrooms’ are some that I disdain the most. I won’t even go into detail about the issues I have with church restrooms. All I can say is they all smell the same; they have their own ‘poopourri’ if you will. In short, I avoid them at all costs.

Then there was that one day…

I had to go, bad. The urge was horrible (who knew a sacrament cup could do such damage). Sweating halfway through Sunday School I finally decide to bite the bullet and accept my fate.
Entering the dreaded space, I begin to methodically clean it. This includes a thorough wipe down of the seating area. So far so good. I’m halfway through the procedure when I drop the toilet paper on the ground behind the seat. Ew. No big deal though. Carefully I lean forward to pick it up

and-
Sploosh

Bent over the toilet, I freeze. Houston we have a very serious problem. I’m afraid to look. Already I can begin to feel the pull of added weight around my neck. Terrified, I look down.

Like the fins of a tropical fish swaying in the toilet water’s current, I see the tip of my tie.
Several colorful words cross my mind but before they could reach my lips and echo in those sacred tile halls, I realize this is no time to panic. My sanity is at stake.

First thing I do is cut my losses.
The tie’s a gonner. Fortunately it wasn’t one of a my favorite ties. With a dark blue background, the tie was covered with large squares that could only be described as…well, cat food shaped. Yeah, I know. So, I felt about as bad at the death of this tie as I did when they kill off ‘extra number 255’ in any disaster movie.

My main concern wasn’t saving the tie. It was how to get up from the bowl without-

“Are you okay in there?”

The sudden voice and knock at the thin steel partition startles me. Realizing the soles of my feet are probably visible beneath the door and thus invoking an image of one hurling their guts out, I quickly stand up to respond when a small voice in the stall next to me answers instead.

“Yeah Dad.”

Releaved that I was not being approached, I turn my attention back to the issue at hand. Too late.
I feel the soft slap of wet material against my white shirt. Like being smacked in the stomach with a cold water balloon, my breath staggers for a second as the soggy wetness bleeds through my shirt and onto my belly.

I gingerly reach down, and grabbing the dry part of the tie, lift it away from my stomach. Not even a prayer can save me from the biohazard that just happened. I feel my sanity slipping. I want to tear my shirt off and run out into the Relief Society hallway screaming.
Treating the wet spot as a bullet wound, I stuff my shirt full of paper towels. With a deep breath I loosen the tie and slip it off my head. The tip of it drips on my shoes. I close my eyes and bite my lip.
With the soggy feeling still against my skin, I step out into the hallway and head straight home where I will begin to bathe in bleach.
You may be saying to yourself, This kids a bit dramatic. Or perhaps you’re thinking, he needs to get serious help.
But let me ask you how you would feel dipping your tie into a toilet bowl at church…that the person before you forgot to flush?

– John Mabey

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