Scrubbing Bubbles

Okay, so let’s back up a bit. I mentioned that I was on the redeye to NYC, right? Oh man, I don’t do well on the redeye. I took half an Ambien sleeping pill as I was boarding, and was asleep by takeoff. I didn’t awaken again until the pilot announced our landing. Despite the solid sleep, I still got off the plane in a fuzzy haze. Totally uncomfortable – weird body temperatures, scratchy eyes, slow synapses… Ugh.

I went downstairs to find the AirTrain (my new fave thing), and decided to pop into the bathroom before I hit the road.

(Okay, quick note: I’m on the flight home and am watching MTV’s show about sweet sixteen satans. Oh man, this one about Cee-Lo’s daughter’s sweet fifteen is awful. I can’t really believe that people are like this. $200k budget for the party. It’s “off the chain,” as Sierra, 15, says.)

Back to the JFK bathroom. So, I went into the eerily quiet bathroom and angled into the stall with my bags and locked the door behind me. I gathered my things to go, and flipped the latch to leave, and nothing happened. I jiggled it. Not budging. I shook the door with all my tired frustration, and nada. So, I pushed my luggage away, got on the floor, and shimmied out. I looked up from the floor at the suddenly-out-the-door line of waiting ladies, and the perfectly hip Asian woman at the head of the line gasped and looked at me in abject horror. A bathroom attendant magically appeared and said, “Oh, you tell me, and I unlock to help!” Of course. I washed my hands (sorta silly considering that my hair had just mopped the floor of a JFK bathroom), and marched out, laughing to myself. Now that I’ve recovered from my sleep-deprived state, I feel, even two showers later, like I should submerge myself in a vat of bleach.