i best a toilet

The toilets at the the Lincoln Center Loews Movie Theater are out to get me.

I'm not being paranoid, I swear. It's true. Every time I walk into the restroom there, one of the toilets yells "WE GOT US AN ANDREA BOEREM. CODE RED. THE OWL FLIES AT MIDNIGHT. STAT."

They're organized, these toilets. I thought my parents were great at presenting a united front, but these toilets give them a run for their money. I mean, THE SAME THING HAPPENS EVERY TIME. I walk in, I select a stall, close and lock the door, and proceed to prep the area. I hang my purse on the hook, check for any unsanitary evidence that could change my choice of stalls, and I remove a paper toilet seat cover from the dispenser on the wall.

And that's when the fun begins.

I place the cover on the seat. I begin to, ah, ready myself for seating, and then the automatic flusher goes off and the cover is promptly swished right off the seat.

So, I stand back up, remove another seat cover, place it oh-so-gently on the seat, go in for landing, and, once again, the automatic flusher flushes.

GHAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!! AAAAARRRRRRGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!

This sequence of events then repeats itself until I either get fed up and practice being a hovercraft, or until I get fast enough to beat the automatic flusher. You guess which option usually wins.

Well, yesterday Paul and I took ourselves down to Lincoln Center to see the movie Inception (which was visually stunning, by the by) and I drank like five gallons of water on the way there on account of it being like a million degrees outside and by the time we got there...well, I had to, uh, go.

I choose my stall, (closest to the wall = less room for strangers to peek through cracks) pull out a seat cover, and take a huge breath.

Gently, ever so gently, I place the tissue over the seat. Nothing. The breath I've been holding whooshes out. I am about to

AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!GHAAAAAARRRRRRHHHHHHH!!!!

And then that porcelain devil laughs, I tell you. Laughs right out loud.

So, I muster all my speediness, grab a cover, and in a movement so precise, so sharply timed as to be almost invisible, I place the cover and sit, triumphant.

I laugh. Right out loud.

And then I step up to the podium to accept my gold medal in Olympic Bathroom Speediness.