One Time My Teacher Asked Me to Write a Letter to “An Entity Unlikely to Respond”…

…so naturally I wrote about poop.  Enjoy.

Dear Lady in the Bathroom at Wendy’s,

You probably don’t remember my mom, sisters, and I, but we remember you. The story of the brief moments we shared together is one my family tells as often and vividly as your exclamations that day you decided to poop in the Wendy’s bathroom. Please don’t think we’re making fun of you—on the contrary, I respect you. It takes a lot of courage to do anything with an audience, especially that. I can barely urinate in a public restroom for fear of judgment. The way you burst into the room certainly made a statement, your declaration “I gots to go!” erasing all doubt of your intentions from our mind. You were in your element.

And then the sounds began. Noises like I’ve never heard before, only punctuated by your prayers to “Sweet Baby Jesus”. I don’t know if the Lord’s power extends to the hellholes that are Wendy’s bathrooms, but for your sake, I hope that Sweet Baby Jesus sent you some aid, and/or several rolls of toilet paper. Of course we’ve all been there, but most of us haven’t been there in a public restroom, and your fortitude and eager embrace of the situation inspires me to this day.

The expression on my mother’s face as you dropped your sick bowel beat is one I’ll never forget. Up to that point in my life, I had witnessed nothing but strength and fortitude from my mother in times of despair, but you, dearest toilet lady, changed all that. What I saw on my mother’s face was pure, unabashed terror that halted my sisters’ stifled giggles in their tracks. With racehorse speed, she pumped paper towels from the dispenser and pressed them into our tiny hands. “Dry your hands and run before the smell hits!” She hissed, loud enough that you probably would have heard if your butt hadn’t been rehearsing its very own STOMP routine.

While it was probably for the best that my mom whisked us out of there the second our hands were washed, I thank you for sharing that intimate moment with my sisters and I. The resulting story is one that has cheered up many people I know, and bonded me to others as we discuss the embarrassing bodily functions that bind all poople—er, people—together.

You’re the shit,

Courtney