Thank God for Kneecaps [9.11.08]

Observing others is quite the exquisite art; one must prearrange for a befitting crack in time, one that properly reflects whatever "snapshot" of reality the observer is thirsting for. Preparatory platforms must be satisfied accordingly, including but not limited to the ever-popular "pee break". Presuming that I would observe post-potty, I swiftly initiated myself with the third stall and naively anticipated just as prompt of an exeunt. On behalf of the readers' sake, I am obliged to ration several prerequisites, which will each grow in merit in the following moments. Simply stated, three rules apply in "lady land", and are listed according to growing importance. The first and most primordial principle is as follows: relieving oneself is perpetually a team effort. Rather instinctively, women make their pilgrimage in ark-esque pairs of two, despite the rare existence of a need for relief from both parties. Secondly, to satisfy the Utopian society that is "lady land" with style similar to Mr. Rodgers, neighborly toilet-paper handouts are minimum benchmarks, not voluntary advances. (When it comes to bailing out a stall-mate, a mere three or four squares is expected.) Lastly and perhaps most importantly, inspecting a stall's availability by peering through the crevice in the door is NEVER an option. In order to have a successful visit from start to finish, all three of the preceding laws must be followed with precise discipleship.
So there I sat, warming the third stall with my presence and having an enjoyable time at that. Unsuspecting of any glitches in the system, I was taken by surprise when a woman entered and peeked through my stall's fissure. The next six seconds that followed were a mixture of awkward eye contact and the defense mechanism of clenching my kneecaps together. I shakily replied "uhmmm...I'm in here", regardless of the fact that our blushing meet-and-greet was the soul product of her illegal peekage. Do not misunderstand me, because I know that she has an exact replica of what had been exposed...but it was MINE! I wanted to shout "Occupied!" but six seconds of eye contact had brought upon me unforgivable scrutiny. What happened to the cardinal rule? The unspoken code? What kind of woman peeks through the crack? And where did she come from? What kind of show are they running? And where was my stall-mate when I needed her?