As I shuffled into the communal women’s bathroom in the early morning hours with my shorts, shirt and undergarments clutched in a ball, I began to wonder if this had been a good decision. I had thoroughly showered the day before I had arrived knowing that the facilities would be limited and crowded. The information sheet that was handed out at orientation emphasized that we were swearing over our lives, and our toiletry and solidarity needs would be at a minimum for the week. In essence, it was like we were transported to a women’s prison just for signing up to be a camp volunteer. I realized we were not out in the woods eating sticks and scrounging for the biggest and softest leaf to use for private matters, but the buzzing fluorescent light overhead that was blinding me while the sun slept reminded me that I was not at my peaceful home.
I observed that some women were totally unfazed and seemed to be enjoying the chit chatter as they went about their business while the rest of us were wondering who had actually coerced us into doing this. When a stall became available, I slipped in and began to figure out how I was going to get dressed without letting any of my items touch the dirty sticky floor. I delicately draped clothes over the toilet roll dispenser and carefully placed my Ziploc bag of toothpaste, brush and makeup onto the top of the toilet tank. I made the decison to keep my flip flops on as I proceeded into doing a flamingo type stance to slip out of my pajamas and into my shorts. One foot remained in the sandal while the other was ever so carefully removed and found its way into a pant leg. I was determined not to let skin come into contact with the ground.
I heard the room go pleasantly quiet as the ‘earliest of early risers’ chipped and chirped their way out to gather for breakfast. They must have all jumped out of bed at once in a pack. My ears were glad for their departure. It was just me, the stall and whoever else had decided to get up at a normal rate of speed.
“What’s that smell? What’s that smell? What’s that smell?” “What’s that smell?”
A shrill woman’s voice echoed off the cement walls. I paused with my head not yet through the neck hole of my assigned camp tee shirt. It seemed to be coming from a stall two over from mine. I froze in place.
Who would ask such a question so loudly in a public bathroom? Doesn’t one know that when in such a place that there may be scents that one may not like, but according to all good social graces we refrain from shouting out our nasal disturbance? Who would be so bold as to announce her disdain in a space that is set apart for such matters to be settled without judgment? It wasn’t like someone was in a restaurant or grocery store inappropriately letting gases fly. We were in a restroom where this type of thing was to be expected. This was unacceptable behavior that lacked decorum ranking right up there with yelling “Fire!” in a crowded theater.
There was a frantic flush and the stall door crashed open. Next, came the sound of soft soled shoes running for the exit. Now, fully dressed, I slowly made my appearance to see other doors opening and all of us looking at each other for answers.
“What was that all about?” A lady with a shower cap peeked out from behind the curtain. “I heard screaming.”
All of us were thinking the same thing. Had a detestable odor sent a woman fleeing for the door? Was she outside sucking in as much fresh oxygen as she could? I sniffed the air to test the possibility that I was missing something. I detected only the usual fare of pink hand sanitizer soap.
After a few moments of this, we all resumed our activity wondering what had just happened.
“Ladies, I apologize.” I glanced up as I was about to put paste on my toothbrush.
No one said a word. The silence was more silent than ever.
“I had an outburst earlier, and I’m sorry if I frightened any of you. But, my brownies were burning!”
I noticed the crooked hairnet that held all her grayish strands in place and her white apron had smudges of yellow batter on it. Her face was red and her breathing heavy.
Only one individual was brave enough to ask,
“Yes. The kitchen is right below here. The oven is quite old, and I had forgotten that I had put a batch of brownies in. When I was in here earlier I could smell them burning. I ran down the stairs into the basement and got to them just in time.”
There was a collective “oh” as we all realized she was the resident cook for the camp.
Sometimes things aren’t always as they appear. We are led strongly by our five senses which influence our decisions and opinions. In some cases such as this, we can jump to a false conclusion because we are not aware of all the facts. Once explained, it all made sense. I went from thinking she was rude to feeling glad that her baked goods went unscorched.
How quickly we can change our minds about something when given a new perspective. I have been attempting to utilize this skill on areas of my life that aren’t necessarily to my liking. I have found that even though I may still not be excited about the circumstances, I can handle them better with insight.
And where do I gain this understanding? In the quiet moments while waking in the morning, I begin to mentally ask questions and then write down what I hear. Often, words of comfort and encouragement float in to remind me that I am not alone. Passages such as: ‘Walk by faith, not by sight, ‘ gently drift into my thought process. It’s really not so much the words but the feeling of peace that calms my spirit so I can get out of bed and deal with whatever lies before me. Knowing that I can call on guidance anytime for clarity makes life more carefree, leaves less room for error and makes jumping to the wrong idea happen less often. I would rather go through life equipped with the knowledge that something is happening for a reason versus wandering around confused and feeling hopeless.
Still, there are those few startling phrases that one never really grows accustomed to..such as.. “What is this wet spot?” “What did I just step in?” “Is that barf?” And..”What is that smell?”
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