Airplane Lavatory

Yes, please.

One person’s trash is another’s treasure. This applies to everything from Brussels sprouts to the smell of permanent markers to Howard Stern (my treasure, thank you). All of us have some quirky item on their list of “likes,” be it the secret shame of loving Zack and Cody’s Suite Life or dipping Twix bars into Cheez Whiz.

As for me? Believe it or not, I find comfort in the airplane lavatory. Not the facilities in the airport itself, mind you – that’s an uncomfortable place marred by lines, and dragging your bag into the stall, and dealing with your reflection after two hours of recirculated air.  I mean the airplane itself.

Sure, it’s cramped.  Yes, it is vaguely penal and sometimes not entirely fresh. Yes, I’ve been chastised for standing in the aisle to wait for said bathroom.  But once you’re in, it’s almost blissful.

After the crowds of the airport, the hassle of security, the waiting at the crowded gate, the anxiously drumming your foot in line as everyone boards, the shoving and prodding required to claim overhead space, and the aisle-dance needed to allow your row-mates access to their window and center seats (fly aisle or drive, that’s my motto), it’s nice to step away from one’s seat, leaving literal baggage behind, and experience that 2-3 minutes of solitude, allthewhile at 20,000 feet.

It helps that I also have the affliction of needing to use the bathroom every 45 minutes or so.  So maybe this quirky “like” that I have is just me, quite uncharacteristically, trying to see a silver lining.

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