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Shelter Me, O Porcelain God
An ode to the bathroom
I used to teach in a high school for kids who got kicked out of their original high schools. The students could be challenging and fractious, but I got along with them pretty well — at least, relative to how well I got along with the administration. Most of the strife was caused by my failure to comply with one or another of the almost incomprehensible number of school rules, many of which struck me as stupid and pointless.
The day I saw the principal heading down the hall toward my classroom was the day after I broke the “no burning candles” rule. I thought it would be cool to completely darken my classroom and light a circle of candles while reading Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Black Cat” to my 11th graders — it was Halloween. It was cool, but I also caught the carpet on fire. I knew it was only a matter of time.
But, on this day, when I saw him coming, rather than just sitting there and waiting helplessly for my reprimand, I walked directly toward him — and then took a sharp right into the faculty women’s restroom before our paths collided.
I realize this is not a great relationship tactic, but hiding in the bathroom is highly comforting and restorative in the short term.
