Talcumgate

Published on Wednesday, June 11, 2014 by Katherine

Sometimes the innocent find themselves victims of a crime in the most unexpected of places. In the very places where they expect the most safety… the most privacy. One minute they are going about their business and the next…..? Victims of a tragic and horrific crime.

Yesterday I began my day as an innocent lamb, later to become a casualty in what I now refer to as Talcumgate.

So tell me… where do you feel the safest as you go about your day at home and at work? Where do you expect complete privacy? Normalcy? Safety?

The bathroom. Don’t you agree? That is why I didn’t think twice when I saw a swipe of baby powder on the outside door of the stall I had chosen at the gym.

Stepping in and closing the latch, I changed from my work to my gym clothes. Then I dutifully followed Edward’s advice as played by Jack Nicholson in The Bucket List: “Here’s something to remember when you’re older Thomas – never pass up a bathroom, never waste a hard-on, and never trust a fart.” In this case, I was in the bathroom so I didn’t pass it up.

I was only on the throne for a minute when I realized something was, well… wrong. For in that minute I glanced down and noticed some white powder on my work pants. The powder appeared to trail across the floor… and then…..

I felt it.

A slight powdery feeling just under my right thigh. Holding my breath, I lowered my eyes and confirmed what I already knew. That I had indeed plopped my bare parts directly down on to someone’s…. used talcum powder.

Putting on my brave face, I finished my business, got myself together and left the stall to wash my hands. However, just as one cannot stop from looking at a bad car accident, I had to stop and look at this most foul crime scene.

Channeling Dexter, I became one with the blood splatter analyst in me. Except in this case, I became Katherine, The Talc Splatter Analyst.

Yes, there was the talc sprayed on the door. But looking closely, I could only envision someone in a mad rush opening the bathroom door while talc flew out of the top of the clean, white bottle. Looking further, I saw the spray continued across the floor, up the commode and directly to the glory hole.

Sure enough, someone needed talc in a private place and they needed it desperately. Flying in to the stall, they must have thrown down their pants, sat on the pot and flung sprays of talc on to whatever it was they needed “talcing.”

Once they were done, they left the evidence behind. Only to find its way to MY behind.

Today, another gym day, I returned to the scene of the crime. Walking through the door to the women’s locker room, I turned the corner and stopped dead in my tracks. The Psycho theme screamed in my head as a new talcum scene played out before me.