Indian Style Trauma

(Photo: Liann expressing her feelings about the bathroom - sketchy...)
Yesterday at the movie theatre I decided to use the public bathroom and Liann offered to hold my purse because “you never know what you'll find in there.” It's a good thing she did, because the floor of the squatter stall I ended up in was clean but rather wet. After doing my business, I turned on the water spicket on my left and suddenly I was wet all over. Water was spraying out of the nuts, bolts, and washers of the spicket but not coming out into the little bucket used for flushing. Frantically, I turned the knob to the right, but the water didn't stop. All the way to the left didn't work either. At this point the spraying had turned into a single arching projectile of water going over my head and hitting me square in the back. So I started laughing. What else could I do? I think the ladies in the stalls next to me thought I was insane. My salwar kameez was tied around my waist and my chupada flung forward and tucked into it, and everything dripped, including my scrunched-up pants. I was still in the crouching position, so calling for help wasn't really an option. I kept messing with the spicket until finally a slight turn set the nuts, bolts, and washers into harmony; the water stopped. The little bucket had filled thanks to the local rainstorm, so I finished and tried to arrange myself in front of the mirror before going out to the Liann, who looked at me once...and then again. It is a good thing that going to a Tamil film involves three hours of darkness and lots of fans.