Smile-breaks
Lights out!
I slung the strap of my purse over the hook on the back of the door and walked ten miles to the toilet sitting at the far end of the stall, waiting for me with open lid. Okay, not ten miles, but it seemed like it. This stall was an unusually long and narrow one.
I was spending more time than usual in this stall. For good reason, but still. . . Time passed. Quite a bit of time, when suddenly the lights went out. All of them.
I sat in pitch blackness. Not a ray of light to be seen. I thought, does Starbucks have a time limit for guest users of the toilet? You know, keep the traffic moving, no pun intended. Was I supposed to get off the can and leave? How? I'd need light to see—and some toilet paper, but I couldn't see the toilet paper dispenser. I figured it was within reach, but where? On which wall? To my left? To my right?
I'd have to get the flashlight on my phone. Sorry. The phone's miles away, in my purse at the far end of the stall. My arms aren't that long.
This was just a blip, I figured. The lights would come back on any minute. I waited. And waited. And waited.
I hoped my eyes would adjust to the darkness. Remembering what I'd shown my grandson many years ago when he was scared of the dark, how your pupils expand in the dark to let the light in, I tried to stretch my pupils. Didn't work. Stretching your pupils is kind of impossible. They have a mind of their own.
Someone'll come in and set off the sensors. No one came. I waved my arms around, thought I'd fool the sensors. Didn't work. Pitch black. Visibility like when you're driving in the pouring rain and can't see the front of your car.
Maybe Starbucks hadn't paid its electric bill? Meanwhile I had to get to that toilet paper. Coming in, I didn't notice which side of the stall the dispenser was on—dumb me. Patrons of restrooms should always note where the toilet paper dispenser is. Since I hadn't, I reached over toward where the wall should be. Found the wall! Now to locate the dispenser—unless it's on the other wall.
Ahhh. Got it. I pulled off some paper and when that was taken care of, I stood up and made my way in the pitch black, my arms groping around to avoid bumping into some unexpected object. You never know what you'll find in a toilet stall.
I made it to where I'd hung my purse on the hook. I couldn't see if it was there but far as I knew, it hadn't gone anywhere. It was there. I took the strap off the hook, shouldered my purse, and walked oh-so-casually out of the restroom—into the light. Guess they did pay their electric bill.
Being a good citizen and Starbucks customer, I reported the light failure to the barista. She said that had been happening off and on—no puns intended—for a while, but the electrician hadn't been able to find a cause, so unexpected darkness remains a threat to patrons of said restroom. Unless you thrive in it, like a mushroom. . .
I remarked that was quite an adventure I'd had. To which she replied, "Many customers have told us about it, but you're the first one to call it an adventure." Hey, when you write Smile-breaks, everything's an adventure.