Monday, 24 September 2012

Invisible Woman

Sometimes I think I am invisible.

It's happening more now, as I age and my skirt length is more modest to hide cellulite and creped knees,  and my jowls are starting to out-droop my, um... chest jowls.

But never is my invisibility more apparent than in a public bathroom.

You might think, hey this is a good thing, Ellen. You can stealth poop at the mall and no one is the wiser.

I suppose that would be a good, sort of un-greedy - not asking for the ability to fly - kind of superpower. The ability to poop in public restrooms without people knowing that it was you. I'd probably make use of the super power. And not always for good.

But my problem is what comes after the pooping (not my happy dance, either).

Those sensors in sinks and hand dryers in public restrooms do not sense me.  It's as if I don't exist and I can stand in front of the sink for 20 minutes waving my hands and cursing while teenager after teenager watches in amusement, only putting down their Arizia shopping bags long enough to give their hands a cursory splash in the water that comes oh so easily to their youthful fingertips.

Stupid youths.

If I am in a bathroom with old school, manual taps, then I inevitably have to do battle with the sensor hand dryers which leave me soggy with no recourse but to dry my hands on my pants.

And then everyone, at least for about 3 minutes, knows that technology ignores my existence.

Even worse, of course, are the invisible butlers that flush after you've done your dirty dirty business.

Or don't.

Yah, they don't see me either. 

Unless, of course,  I’m sitting down, spraying water and whatever.

Or it doesn't work at all, forcing me to leave my shame for the teenager in line who will be utterly grossed out and will make no bones about huffing in disgust while I shrug guiltily and shffle over to the sinks for another dose of humiliation.

Most undignified. And could give someone/me a heart attack.

Luckily I eventually figured out that there's a little button you can press. Not until many times too late.

Maybe I’m a hologram, only visible at certain angles. That would be cool.

It's be hard to eat snacks if I was a hologram. But for sure I'd be thin.

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