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Last Sunday was
the prettiest of beach trips this
year so far. The bay was like a big sparkling azure lake, calmly
lapping its soft sand coast. Basque houses climbed up hillsides
in their typical white with red or green trim. I accomplished my
two goals of the day which were 1. not to get sunburned and 2. eat
ice cream. Any stress from performing in a musical was slowly washed
away by the lazy beach ambiance. Then nature called so we looked
for a toilet and found one of those round French self-sanitizing
ones.
He went in first
and I lollied about admiring the
view. Then he held the door and as it closed with
a heavy metal "clack" behind me I wondered if I
should have waited. The squat pot started sanitizing itself, then,
and I turned to leave but the door was a large panel with no handles
or locks and it wasn't budging. Only a little bit of the spray was
hitting my feet so I decided to wait it out next to the door when
I heard a funny noise and the walls decided to sanitize themselves,
too. That's when I panicked.
I started yelling
and banging on the door from the
inside, sanitizer spraying all over the place. It
probably sounded pretty comic to passers-by. Then
relief washed over me as I saw a sign next to the
door. My relief didn't last long, though, because
written on the sign was "To exit..." and the rest was
rubbed off. A big red button was tempting me
beside the door and I weighed the possible
consequences of pushing it with the possible
toxicity of the spray. Finally I gave it a push and, in an instant,
I was back out in the sun, feet soaking wet, boyfriend heartily
laughing.
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