She first hears the rattling when she tugs on the roll of cheap, too-thin toilet paper. Her eyes leap to the floor just in time to see the metal drain cover scrape across the tile. Then it emerges: a human hand. It’s big and calloused, male, grimy. Dirt sticks beneath its nails and in the grooves of its fingerprints. The hand gropes around the rim of the drain, searching for—what? It doesn’t matter. She flushes and flees the bathroom, flees the horror-film-worthy scenario that has her flustered and afraid of her own bladder. When will she have to go again? She can’t go back in there...
Yeah, it's not a tale from the CTA, but a) I didn't ride the CTA today and b) it really happened to me last week and I thought it'd make a good story. It turned out to be a construction worker; nevertheless, it was still hugely creepy. You'd think they could post signs when some strange dude is planning on sticking his hand up the women's bathroom drain, wouldn't you?
I returned from Florida yesterday, where my sister and I sang at my Aunt's funeral. It was very sad, but I'm glad I got to see my family, and that I got to meet all my new little baby cousins. They are buttons. This is me and my cousin's 1-year-old son Henry:
Yeah, that's right. Vomit-inducing cuteness. Be jealous.