To Be or Not To Be... On Time

To Be or Not To Be…on Time
By Gayle Street



“Do you know what you are doing?”
“I don’t know, should I?”
“You tell me.”
“Well, I don’t know, you asked the question.”
“Touchy today, aren’t we?
“Shut up.”
The conversation went nowhere after that. Considering the fact that I was talking to myself didn’t help much either. I was in a place where I wasn’t sure I wanted to be, but didn’t have any choice but to be. But, being who I am, I was guaranteed to confuse the issue and could probably be somewhere else, but just didn’t know it. I stopped that thought in its tracks before it derailed on its own. The fact remained was that I was here and there was there and in order to get from here to there, there were certain niceties to endure, one of them being…the bathroom.
The thing is, is that some bathrooms have more functions than others. They can do things that most people don’t even dream. Surprising? Impossible? I thought so too until my own tiled sanctuary decided that it wanted to diversify, you know, do other stuff too.
My bathroom had been pretty normal for most of my life. Things did what they were made for and nothing else. It is for just this reason that I could use the bathroom most of my life and not feel in the slightest bit worried or even threatened. After all, what could a bathroom appliance do?
Ah ha! Indeed what could it do? It was precisely this thought that got me where I am at this moment.
I edged along the carpet on hands and knees, determined not to let it hear or see me coming. If it had enough time to prepare… The walls trudged slowly in the opposite direction. My grandfather glared serenely over his peeling picture frame at me. The old geezer still had the power to send shivers down my spine and he had been dead for two decades. An approaching corner kept the unknown well-wrapped around its edge. I paused momentarily. Ahead, an antique ball-and-claw table stood to attention, light gleaming off its polished legs. I had never liked the thing. It seemed to have a mind of its own, although logic tried its damndest to dictate otherwise.
Then again, in this house, logic was shaky at best.
Great Aunt Marge, fanatical about antiquities, had insisted in her Will that nothing ever be sold. So monthly, the bank had joyously appointed a woman to take stock of all the ‘old stuff’. She was as welcoming as a tax collector with the sunny disposition of a wombat. Her mouth had a twisted, pucker as though she sucked lemons for a living; I wasn’t entirely sure I doubted this. Her snappy dress code included a shapeless all-black suit that hung on her skeletal figure, staying there no doubt because, it too, was paid to do so. Hair - wrenched back in a bun so tight she would be plucking her eyebrows on the back of her head - finished a look that stalked my dreams.
I looked forward to her visits about as much as going to the quack for a prostate exam. I shuddered and tried to banish the image from my mind.
The old table now was within arms reach. It looked about as innocent as a cat in a
mouse cage. I was almost eyeball-to-eyeball with some distastefully carved creature in the wooden edging. It was abundantly clear, later on, that it took offence to my dislike, if indeed inanimate objects could do such a thing. This one apparently didn’t care what furniture could and shouldn’t do; it did what it wanted. Releasing a ball, the table made a casual swipe at me that clearly intended to maim. I ducked and rolled with lightning-quick reflexes learned from competing for the Xerox machine at work.
“Ha! Missed!” I chortled.
This did not go down well. Apparently tables did not like to be laughed at. Three more balls went rolling and my pants were promptly and efficiently shredded. Then, grumbling and muttering to itself, the table trundled off to retrieve its balls, pausing only to kick a pot plant. My mind did several things at this point, leaving reality being first and foremost. I screamed denial -mostly like a girl. I listened to me, since there was no one advocating otherwise. Who was I to argue? With the table satisfactorily explained as some unknown mental occurrence, I regained my balance, albeit without much of my lower trouser legs - not that I was actually admitting that they were gone - and mailed myself a mental memo reminding me there would be more than enough time for a psychological breakdown later.
There were other fish to fry and I had an appointment with a shower.
Small bubbles of sweat wobbled between my eyes. The silence folded in on me until the only sound was the hushed whistle of air between my teeth and the vague, mountain-lifting snoring of Peekaboo, my Great Dane, three floors down.
The open door was fast approaching at a crawling pace, or was the bathroom - in its eagerness to lure another fly in its parlor - pushing the door closer to me? I paused in contemplation while another of my ex-aunts stared cross-eyed down her nose at me from the opposite wall. Aunt Agrat wasn’t the most attractive woman of her time, but having eyes, which could look in multiple directions simultaneously, was enough to send men screaming. I scowled. If this was supposed to be scare tactics, I was not impressed in the least. This had to be stopped or else one might never know when one might end up.
Down the hall, the cool light from the bathroom sprawled across the floor. I sat for a
minute wondering how and why I was doing what I was doing, but after a while it got so complicated that I decided to continue. Going to the bathroom was better than having an aneurysm as to why. There was silence inside. Not even the solemn ‘dripping faucet’ sound to greet me. This left me fairly indignant since I was, after all, the owner and there were standards to be upheld; every bathroom had a right to have a leaky tap. It was one of those laws of Nature or something. As per usual, the housekeeper had scrubbed everything down to the paint and then some. The entire room gleamed as I edged my face around the old oak door. Its antique brass
handle curved in a friendly gesture, inviting me in. This struck me as ironic for the appearing innocence was more like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. To the regular, untrained human eye, it looked quite tasteful, with delicate netting floating about the windows and dried flowers in a ceramic bowl on the counter. Tasteful pastel hues stretched across the walls. Rough, pale blue tiles spilled across the floor, filling every nook and cranny, while the ivory toilet bowl reflected the cool dimness as sunlight cautiously parted the curtain and then prudently remained outside. Even the cunning towels managed to look huggable from my vantage point. But then again, it wasn’t
the towels I was after.
“Been playing with the furniture again, huh?” The voice belonged to a cousin of mine, grinning at me impudently from across the hallway. I turned to face her. Mischievous, green eyes dancing with unexpressed mirth, met mine. A lock of red hair dangled daringly over a freckled cheek, dangerously close to a mouth that wasn’t too discerning as to what it consumed. On her hands and knees, no doubt to make a point of how idiotic I must look; an impish grin completed the ensemble.
“What do you want?” I snapped.
“What every homosapien on this confounded globe wants.” Shot back the cryptic reply.
I bit my lip. I was not going to take the bait. A debate with her would last most of my natural life, reaching far into the realms of email, faxes and middle of the night phone calls.
She didn’t seem the least bit disappointed, though. Without skipping a beat she plunged on. “I say, are you going to roll around on the floor all day or are you actually going to go inside?”
I snorted. “You still don’t believe me?”
“Should I?”
“You damn well should!” I was annoyed and sat back rubbing a knee.
“Prove it then, make me believe.”
“By all means, feel free to use the bathroom.” I waved her in with a frozen smile on my face, “The shower comes highly recommended this week.”
“Not good enough, cousin.”
“Well your bathroom doesn’t have it in for you, now does it?” Sniffing loudly I whipped a handkerchief from my breast pocket.
My cousin made a face. Being the whimsical brat she was, she would continue to humor me right up until I took up permanent residence in a padded room. It was at this point I cast about for possible projectiles; my aim wasn’t the best, but I might just hit something fleshy. She always seemed to be the carefree girl no matter what happened. Everyone believed her obviously concocted stories, so why not believe mine? The ironic thing was that mine were not even close to being concocted. If I ever published an autobiography, my parents, God bless their souls, would spin in their graves.
“No one believes your bathroom is psychotic, you big loon.” She replied finally. She didn’t even bother to hide the smirk.
“Then why haven’t you used this bathroom since I mentioned it, then?” Ah ha! I had her!
“I don’t live here, for one.” My face crumbled. She had a point there.
I rebounded. “Why not use it now?”
“I don’t need it now.” She was really starting to annoy me.
I peered into the cloyingly innocent daylight that was spilling onto carpet between us. We sat there. She stared at me and I stared into the bathroom. It was a battle of wits, one I was sure I could win. It was easy to pretend she wasn’t there, especially since she had the attention span of spastic flea. Three point two seconds later, boredom settled in and she thundered like a rampaging elephant down the stairs and out of my hair. I was gleefully aware I was alone and went back to my watching, casting only the briefest of sympathetic thoughts in the direction of Peekaboo who, undoubtedly, would be her focus until the next distraction.
I guess the first time I really became concerned was when I started losing time. I would get into the shower and seemingly minutes would pass between the time I entered and left. It would be a different story altogether when I returned to my room, a towel tucked about my waist, hair wet and slicked back. I thought my alarm clock was having issues. You know the kind: get me batteries or else I am going belly up. It started with a half an hour but soon graduated right up the scale until the steam behind the shower curtain had swallowed an entire hour. Then two. This puzzled me
since my fingers were never shriveled, so the prune theory went right out of the window faster than my clock did last Monday.
My housekeeper scolded me for wasting so much water and bellowed herself hoarse trying to call me to breakfast. This in itself was an incredible feat since the woman could strip paint with her voice.
Then the weirdness meter bust a mercury bulb. It happened early one morning. I was showering, languishing in the hot water under the ‘relaxo’ shower nozzle. Without a shred of warning, a loud hammering on the other side of the curtain screamed for my immediate attention. As far as I was aware, I was the sole occupant of the bathroom. I yanked the curtain aside determined to deliver a blistering epithet to whoever had dared enter the hallowed, if not damp, walls of my bathroom…Well, I have to say that the men in the workshop were surprised to say the least. I, on the other hand, almost had a coronary.
The room was old and grimy and a workbench stretched itself woodenly along a yellowing sidewall. Scraps of dirty cloth and bits of leather lay scattered across the floor. A large dog hogged the hearth in a well-fed pile of furry folds while dirty, filtered light pushed through an old mud-splattered window. I have to honestly admit that it wasn’t exactly this that got my attention.
You see, wonder of wonders…the bathroom was gone. I wasn’t entirely sure I liked the replacement either. I gulped several times taking in equal amounts of soap and water from the shower nozzle, which I might add was still running splendidly well and hot as a furnace.
A man wearing an old, cracked leather apron stared up at me through his small, round, smudged spectacles. He lowered the red-hot piece of metal he was hammering into a rusty bucket of water with a steamy hiss and leaned on a nearby anvil. He stared at me, chewing nonchalantly on something.
“I say, “ I felt I spoke with a rather controlled voice since my knees were quite literally knocking. “What are you doing in my bathroom?”
“I migh’ say the same for you and that there funny curtain, mister.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” I almost screamed.
“Doesn’t make much sense now does he?” The smith said casually to a second man who had just entered the room.
“Aw, I dunno, John,” the other man replied straight-faced. “Thems important men, they are. Prob’ly sposed to sound like that.”
“Yer righ’, as always.” John smiled.
Water dripped off the tip of my nose and I waved my bottle of conditioner threateningly. The adrenalin running through my veins was breaking all sorts of world land-speed records. I was ready for anything they might try. Just let them-
My feet chose that exact moment to remove themselves from beneath me, no doubt curious to see what all the raucous was about. My legs shot skyward in several directions and I landed with a painful thud at the bottom of the tub. I lay there like an upturned beetle and it was several moments before I could distinguish bones from bruises.
“Thing is,” the man called John continued calmly without missing a beat. “This ain’t gone an’ happened since I used to sit on me grandaddy’s knee.”
“I knows what yer mean. We should tell sumunne, though.” The other man wiped his hands on a dirty cloth.
“Naw, that there little naked man will go on his own. Jus’ you watch and see.” With that, both men settled down to watch in silent amusement.
I was mad. I was fuming. I was also several other words, which I could have sworn I never knew before that morning. My brain was tumbling in a sea of confusion and the same logic that had insisted the table was behaving itself, now whimpered like a baby and begging to be psychoanalyzed. Glowering, I clambered to my feet with as much dignity as I could muster and drew myself up to my full height. “If you’ve a scrap of decency in you, gentleman, then you will vacate the premises immediately!” With noted flare I swung the curtain shut.
“Blimey,” a chuckling voice noted. “He’s gone and insulted us good by calling us gennelmen.”
The laughing suddenly stopped. There was silence and for the first time I cast my panicked gaze tub-ward and realized I was completely naked. Soapy water pooled about my feet. This was not good. A millionth of a second later I had managed to get my trembling hands – both of them – around the doorknob. The door jolted on its hinges as it flew open and a howling banshee in a towel greeted my housekeeper. She dropped the sheets she was carrying and took off down the hallway, screaming.
After much incredible effort, of which I was later rather proud of, I pulled myself together. A remarkable achievement, considering my mind had once more fled to greener pastures; anywhere but the bathroom. I peered around the edge of the door. A pair of roving eyes and a nose; all I was willing to risk. Distantly I could hear the housekeeper swearing fluently in Spanish and absently noted some of the expressions I wanted to use myself. The misty reflection in the bathroom mirror stared back at me unchanged, and for a minute I wondered if I had imagined it
all. Everything was as it should be. Damp walls, towels, tiled floor. No evidence of a forge or anvil. Nothing out of place. I left my shower unfinished; the words ‘psychotic episode’ dangling over my crazed eyeballs.
This, however, was not where it all ended. Oh contraire, it was where it all began. The time came when I would not know what situation I would step into upon leaving the wet confines of my shower. Standing in a ring of gladiators with just a towel for protection was not the best way to start one’s workweek. Monday being what it is really didn’t help things at all. The muscle-bound warriors in antiquated armor had been quite understanding of the whole situation considering they waited almost a few seconds before trying to kill me. And so it went on… That Wednesday I visited several Greek temples, the catch being that most of them were still being built. The
Greeks thought that a naked man appearing out of nowhere was a sign from god, which one I can’t recall. Some skinny little priest in a white robe had tried to explain it, gesticulating like a man possessed. I closed the shower curtain in his face, opening it on an irate housekeeper. Then there was Egypt on Saturday, which was entertaining to say the least. The flash tan was especially fun. The dust got in everywhere – and I do mean everywhere. I had to then take a second shower and landed in the middle of the American Civil War. I spent several hair-raising moments cowering in
the bottom of the tub while lead bullets zinged overhead.
My family thought I was insane. My housekeeper threatened to quit if she had to keep washing the dirt out of the bathtub. Most of my relatives thought I should be committed. Some even tried. I was completely certain of my sanity however. That of my shower’s was questionable. I was the outcast of my family and soon associated with those people who they spoke about but not to. The only one who would even talk to me was my cousin. She was a bit of a nut herself, which made us ideal company, but then again, she did some things that made insanity itself look sane.
And so here I was, kneeling on the floor outside of my bathroom, wondering what diabolical plan my shower had up its pipes for my next visit. Sheepishly, after long moments of thought, I got to my feet and stepped cautiously inside. Everything was as it should have been. Neat, tidy and in order; soaps, towels, toilet paper. I sighed. I had to face the music. This was my only bathroom and I had to take a shower sometime. The people at work were starting to notice the smell.
I closed the door behind me and for some reason it sounded as though my tomb was swinging shut. I undressed and stepped behind the curtain. Nothing happened. I peeked out - the bathroom was still there. I turned on the water and all went as planned. Nothing happened. The bathroom tiles remained as they were. I took a deep breath and enjoyed the steam. My paranoia slowly drained out of me as I enjoyed my first shower in over a week.
Finishing up, I pulled aside the curtain and there was the misty bathroom just as I left it. I took a deep breath and my chest swelled as I stepped out. I had made it. I had defeated the shower and all its plans. I felt a thousand feet tall. I flexed my muscles and with towel around my waist I reached for the doorknob.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A familiar voice said.
“Why ever not?” I answered before I realized to whom I was speaking.
I smiled at myself across the room. Me in a towel; I was amused. I looked knowingly around the room before I spoke. “Because it isn’t just the shower anymore.”
The door opened.

End