I went into the women’s restroom, that place where the roly-polys hang out, that place where some un-named seemingly professional women DO NOT WASH THEIR HANDS WITH SOAP, that place where some women go to remove their masks if only for a few moments.
And what did I find, what do I continually find?
Toilet paper pieces strewn on the floor at the base of the toilets in their stalls. Drips of water splashed on the mirror and all over the counters. Soap strings and droplets that didn’t quite make it into the compliant hands.
I bent down to pick up the pieces on the floor, and was startled by a “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” This woman appalled was scolding me for touching the unclean. I was appalled that she was appalled.
I am grateful that my Mom taught me to clean even in the “not my space” areas.
I am grateful that I am a cleaner-up-per in public restrooms. I saw a young woman wiping down the shiny faucets in the same restroom the other day, and even though she was from another culture, I felt like we were SISTERS! We laughed and laughed about how horrifying it is that these masked women in this building feel they can come into “our” space and drip and drool and drop and destroy our clean.
Therefore, I am grateful for these masked women. They give me purpose and meaning in the space known as the women’s 1st floor public restroom of Building 27.