Peek a Boo, I See You

I took The Kid for a leisurely trip to our local Books A Million bookstore.  Since it would take less time for a hipster to grow an ironic beard than it does for her to pick out her latest book, while there, I had to run to the bathroom.

There are two stalls in their restroom, and both stall doors were closed    The room was rather small and to keep from being hit by the main door, I leaned against the sinks and patiently waited my turn.   In one stall, a young mom and her preschooler kept up a steady stream of conversation about Fancy Nancy.   I could feel that my bladder would not wait much longer and tried the handicap stall door.  

Locked.

Of course.

I leaned back against the sinks and crossed my arms, silently praying that my bladder would stretch a wee bit more.

I glanced at the handicap stall door and realized there was about a 3/4 of an inch to an inch inch gap and that I could see right into the stall.    I quickly looked away, granting that poor lady privacy, and then looked back.

Tell me I did not see that.

Au contraire, I did.

There she was.   A woman in a bright red sweater, dark hair pulled back, pants pulled up, just sitting on the toilet, book in her hand, looking at me.  

Are you stinking kidding me?

She gave me a bit of a look, like I should mind my own business as she was doing hers.   I looked away again.   Then glanced back.  SecretBookThief was looking back down reading.  Reading!!!!   Not doing her business at all.

 My bladder twitched in anger.

I ran through possible scenarios in my head.

 Tell the manager she's in the bathroom reading when the sign CLEARLY says not to bring books into the bathroom?  Nah.   I'm not a tattler.

 Say something?   Well, Mom and Sparkly Baby Toms were so busy talking, I didn't think SecretBookThief would hear me.

 Front her out after they left?  Possibly.  I am the Queen of Passive Aggressiva, after all.   That might definitely work.

 About that time, I glanced back over, and she was looking at me through the crack and giving me a dirty look.

Frowning, I made my first two fingers into a vee pointed at my eyes and then at her.  The universal sign for, "I see you, now go outside and read in the bookstore like the rest of the normal people, instead of trying to steal books in your purse.  Dangit,  I have to pee.  BAD."

She jumped a little and guiltily looked down.   The toilet flushed in the other stall and my bladder celebrated.
I quickly entered the now empty stall.  As I did, there was a rustling in the stall next to me.  

Perhaps she's decided to do her business now, I thought.

Then a shirt landed on the floor, its arm half under the divider between our stalls.

What.  The.  Heck.

There was more rustling.   What was she doing?  

A bra joined the shirt.    I quickly finished and flushed.

As I opened the door to go wash my hands, the clink of the button on her pants hit the tile.

Ooooooo....kay....

I kept my eyes averted and went to the sink to wash my hands.      I checked my appearance in the mirror, and  like the car wreck you can't help from looking at, I used the mirror to glance at the reflection of the floor of her stall.    Yep, there was her entire outfit on the floor, and without looking at the gap itself in the mirror, skin was visible.

Homegirl was now buck ass naked, reading a book.

And that's when I left.

So yeah.   Don't use hand  military hand signs in the bathroom.    People may think you are a creeper and try to out creep you.  

It *will* work.