The Shower

Everyone who's ever taken a shower has an idea. It's the person who gets out of the shower, dries off and does something about it who makes a difference.
-Nolan Bushnell

I left my towel at Aunt Rhonda's.

There are two reasons why I left my towel: first, I had used it that morning and didn't want to pack a wet towel in my suitcase. Second, I figured that every hotel or residence I stayed at would have towels that I could use. For the most part I was right, but being right for the most part is the same as being wrong.

Fast forward four weeks into my summer travels. It was my last night in Poland and I was staying at a facility set up by some church. I decided I wanted to take a shower - it had been rather hot that day and I had spent 3 hours in a stuffy communist-era train. I gathered my deodorant, razor, shaving cream, toothbrush, toothpaste, and my comfy pajamas that smelled like they hadn't been washed for weeks (they hadn't), and prodded down the hall to the bathroom only to find that it was locked. I sighed, flashed a disgruntled smile at someone who muttered something to me in Polish, and went back to my room. I paced back and forth multiple times until I was bored enough to see if the bathroom was finally open. It was. I opened the door with no trouble and happened to notice that there was an absence of a lock. Puzzled, I inspected the door more closely. Turns out one has to pull instead of push. Who would've thought?

I walked to the back of the bathroom where the single shower room was located. I opened the door and observed the tiny room. It was completely covered with tile, as most European bathrooms are. There was a large window on the wall adjacent to me covered by a curtain. Three hooks hung on the wall presumably meant for changes of clothes. The shower was on the wall to the left, and try as I might, I couldn't find a shower curtain anywhere, which totally negated any use those three hooks may have had. There weren't any towels either, so for the third time that evening I meandered back to my room - this time in search for a towel. I couldn't find one. I looked in all the wardrobes, all the dresser drawers, and on all the beds. No towel. Sighing, I zipped open my suitcase. My goal was to find the most absorbent, yet quickest drying material that I had with me. T-shirts, jeans, and underwear flew out as I dug. Finally, I found what I needed.

My H&M scarf.

Thankful yet again that I refused to buy polyester, I made the trek back to the shower, scarf in hand. I was then presented with the problem of how to keep the scarf and my change of clothes dry as I showered. I couldn't hang them on the three useless hooks, and I certainly couldn't leave them outside the door of the shower room (although, I forget why). Finally, I decided to place them behind the window curtain and pray that I wouldn't get lead poisoning from the chipping paint gathered on the windowsill. I had visions of the curtain suddenly catching a draft and flying open leaving me exposed to all of Poland and without any dry clothes to change into. After dropping every single sock I had with me into the water gathered on the bottom of the shower, I managed to get clean, dry (thanks to my multi-purpose scarf...ha! the fashion designers didn't see that one coming!), and into my comfy pajamas.

As I made my final stroll to my room, I resolved that I will eventually design a t-shirt that boasts "I survived the shower." The words will be written in the gaudy typeface that every B horror movie uses, and you can betcha that it will double as a towel.

-Matthias