Read Online The Big Dirt Nap by Rosemary Harris - Free Book Online

sure I was just being ’noid and the drivers outside were merely having a snooze, a squeeze, or a snort, I headed for the ladies’ room. I grabbed a handful of my shirt and used it to keep from actually touching the doorknob. Not bad. Pretty clean actually, but that didn’t stop me from meticulously layering the seat with toilet paper before sitting down. I know, it’s neurotic, but the lessons of youth are never quite forgotten—I had a friend who always traveled with her own over-the-door hook so she’d never have to put her handbag on the floor of a public bathroom. Undoubtedly something her mother once taught her.
    I’d just unzipped and dropped trou when through the opened window I heard a car start to pull out and then stop after only a minute. I heard a door slam. Moments later the doormat’s jarring buzzer sounded. Trapped in a toilet, I could be in big trouble. I sat there paralyzed. What could I use as a weapon if I needed one? A plunger? A toilet brush? Only if I touched them and that was a big if since whatever was outside was probably less deadly than either of those germ-riddled items. I was staring at the bathroom’s small shuttered window, trying to picture my hips squeezing through, when I realized I was being ridiculous—the victim of an overactive imagination. I zipped up, washed up, and threw some cold water on my face, patting dry with a rough paper towel. This time, I wrapped another towel around the doorknob to let myself out. The door opened into the bathroom and I held it ajar with my butt and turned to watch the balled-up wad of paper bank shot into the trash.
    “Nice shot.”
    I spun around in the tiny bathroom, slamming my shoulder into the door and my hip into the doorknob and coming face-to-face with the large pockmarked nose of a man with no visible neck. His double and triple chins melded into his shoulders and chest and I imagined that naked he must look something like the Michelin Man. Not a pretty picture.
    “Thanks,” I mumbled. I tried to get past him and we did that little dance you do when two people are trying to be polite and accidentally keep blocking each other’s way, only this didn’t feel accidental or polite.
    “Sorry,” I said. “I’ll just scoot by.” I skipped around him fast, my fingers grazing the cold leather of his jacket, which was so voluminous it must have cost two cows their lives. I was ready to make my exit when Ravi, the clerk, called to me.
    “Lady, lady, I am ringing your order.”
    Michelin Man flashed an oily grin and positioned himself right behind me, between me and the door. I gave him a weak smile and moved closer to the counter to put as much distance between us as possible. He didn’t seem to be buying anything; he just stood there, his frankfurter fingers laced in a loose cat’s cradle, his stubby thumbs tapping together to some internal melody.
    “If you’re just getting cigarettes or something, you can go before me,” I said, “I have a lot of stuff.”
    “I don’t smoke. Filthy habit.” He shrugged and showed me three candy bars buried in his laced fingers. “Sweet tooth.” I was stuck.
    Inside my pocket, I separated my keys so that there was one in between each finger of my right hand. That way if I had to throw a punch, it would do more damage. I’d read that in a women’s magazine somewhere and hoped it was true.
    “The big bottle of water is on sale, wouldn’t you like that one instead?” Ravi asked.
    “Sure, why not?” I said, watching him leave his perch to get the water. Every item was rotated twice, to find the bar code. It was an excruciatingly slow process.
    “When you spend over twenty dollars, you get a free lotto ticket,” he said, finishing up the sale. “Would you like to pick some numbers?”
    Here I was, trying to get the hell out of there, and this guy was bucking for employee of the month.
    “It’s okay, I’m not much of a gambler and I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
    “Are you