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Rated: ASR · Short Story · Biographical · #1171950
When a man is forced to face his phobia head on, the outcome can sometimes be hilarious.
"Thank you for shopping at Toys R Us, have a nice day".

"Thanks. You too", I replied.

"Now, who's next on Santa's list" - I muttered to myself, when suddenly it struck.
Oh No! This can't be happening, not now. I try to convince myself, just ignore it, you can hold on to you get back home.You see, I have always had this problem with how shall I say, using public conveniences.

Predictably, the further I walked, the funnier I walked. The best I could hope for was that my fellow Christmas shoppers would take pity on me for being born with one leg shorter than the other.

Finally, gravity out ranked my fear of performing a very private function in a public place. My short leg, which was becoming visibly shorter by the minute managed to carry me to the place where it all happens.

Upon entering the establishment, I was confronted by a long white wall of doors, closed doors to be precise; all except the one second from the end where a little kid just ran out from.

Like a shackled prisoner hobbling to the electric chair, I entered the small room. As a father of two young boys myself, I was anxious to survey the overall condition of the "chair" after its last customer had used it. Just as I had feared, the seat which is designed to be lifted up for certain applications, but which is invisible to most males under the age of thirteen had sadly sustained a certain degree of collateral damage. Like a member of a racing car pit crew, I quickly went to work, using the limited resources at my disposal to bring the seat back to some kind of satisfactory working condition.

After having prepared the equipment and conducted a stocktake of the primary consumable(s) required to complete the event, I turned around to lock the door.
I quickly discovered that one critical component required to make this happen, is a lock. The half inch round hole in the door where the lock once lived reminded me of this fact.

I am fascinated with how one arrives at the point of breaking off a lock from such a door - Let's see what would I like to achieve in my life? Maybe study hard, become a scientist, and discover a cure for Cancer. No I know what I will do; I will go and break off toilet door locks at the shopping mall.

I must admit that I did start to suffer from performance anxiety when a four year old boy started up a conversation with me via the hole where the lock used to be. I know he was four because he told me. His name was Patrick, and apparently his father was in one of the other "small rooms" to my left.

What is it about the southern part of our anatomy that automatically recognises the difference between us sitting on a general conventional style chair as opposed to the "sometimes" chair? I mean as soon as I sit down, it's game on.
My abdomen turns into some kind of army drill sergeant who starts barking orders at me. "Hey boy, if you wanted to have a rest you should have chosen a park bench, GET ON WITH IT"

Now a major part of my self conscious phobia centres on particular sounds that do occasionally occur when one finds oneself in such a position. So ordinarily I would combat this by waiting until someone else either flushes or turns on the hand dryer before I get the show on the road, however with my impatient drill sergeant now screaming at me, time was no longer a friend. It is amazing how much your face burns when it turns a bright red.

Finally after three "Sorry, someone in here's" and a sore right foot, it was time for me to get on with the rest of my life. When I pressed the "dispatch" button only to learn that it no longer worked, I just somehow knew the next customer would be standing directly outside the door when I departed.

Ah, sorry, but it UM, the flush thingy doesn't work.

Yes it is amazing how much your face burns when it turns bright red I thought to myself as I walked off with two legs of equal length.
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