O l i v e r B e n j a m i n
first triumph over his or her body, a young woman’s first
menstruation, a young man’s first curious ejaculation. What was so
mundane about these? This was the hallowed hole where visitors
witnessed themselves stripped of their disguises, minus the ties that
bound; where one observed the shocking metamorphosis of the
pubescent body, followed by the adult and elderly, with equally
surprising changes. And contemplation not confined to the flesh,
either. The bathroom offered the only solace available a world where
even diaries weren’t sacred, where secret hiding places were never
secret for long, and where your own precious mettle was everybody’s
business. Yet in the water closet, more was just washed off than dead
skin—masks and pretense were shed like so much effluvia. Secrets
and fantasies were allowed to flow safely in the confines of this most
private of chambers. And although more sublime settings might well
have been chosen, for those isolated moments the humbled were
allowed the opportunity for an audience with God. Unlike dreamers
who dwelt in more natural environments—where places to be alone
with thoughts and intuitions were as easy to come by as stepping
outside of the front door—captives of the city, for better or worse, had
to find their divine telephones elsewhere. Which was why the toilet
was in fact a sort of a altar, and the bathroom, perhaps the most
divine room in the house, was in many ways the navel, church, and
pit-stop of the spirit.
And, as Harvey was just about to discover, it was indeed a stage
where fateful turning points were played out.
The absence of urinals was his first clue that he had chosen badly.
Nevertheless, there was a water bomb in his trousers and no time to
waste. With labored breathing, he flung open the stall door and to his
horror, pissed his pants. This bladder blunder was triggered by the
fact that seated before him in a hardly less-compromising position
was the confounded woman who had stolen his car.
“Well, well,
well
,” said Harvey, at once relieved and
embarrassed, and then relieved once more. “So we meet again.”
“Sweet Jesus,” gasped Victoria. “What in blue blazes are you
doing here?”
“I should ask you the same question,” he replied triumphantly, or
as triumphantly as one can reply after pissing their own pants. “Only,
I won’t. I will merely order you to finish your business, and come
with me to the police station, where I can see you booked like the
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