The Girl with the Draggin Poo

I was sitting on the 45-minute train ride from home to uni, perusing through my readings, pink highlighter in hand. The muffled voice of the train driver announced that our next stop will be Wynyard. I looked out my lower-level window and watched the suits file out onto the platform to my right. This was when it hit. An aggressive blow of urgency pressed onto my bladder. I squeezed my thighs together and bounced up and down on my seat, trying hard to convince myself that 'I don't really need to go that badly...'

The train-trip crawled along, and after what felt like an eon, we pulled up at my stop. I barged through the crowd of fellow commuters and burst into the first free cubicle I laid my eyes on, sliding my uni reader atop the bathroom's hand-dryer before unbuttoning. As I went to squat down, I ran my eyes over the toilet bowl and saw a wet turd the size of a small hamster, clinging to the side of the bowl. I began to dry-gag, but it was far too late, my pants were already on their way down, and my bladder had sensed imminent release - there was no way back. 

Two minutes later, and 1kg lighter, I stepped out of the cubicle...power-walking away from the scene. Maybe twenty-metres away from the cubicle, I noticed my hands were a lot freer than earlier on. I looked in my bag, checking to see if I had put anything I may have previously been holding in there. 

Nothing. Then I realised. And a pang struck the pit of my stomach. 

The hand-dryer.

I turned back around, retracing my speedy steps to that damned cubicle. I prayed it would be empty. It wasn't. 

In the minute or so I waited for whoever occupied the loo, I ran a long list of lines through my head. 'Hey, was there a book in that bathroom? It was gross in there hey?'

'Were you just in that disgusting bathroom? Yuck ay? Um, was there a book in there?'

Eventually a petite asian girl walked out. She saw me waiting outside and approached me saying, 'Was that your book in there?' 

I laughed, too loudly, 'Oh yeah! I thought I'd left it on the train!'

She just looked at me, straight-faced. 

I could feel her judging me, thinking, 'You are fucking foul.'

I desperately wanted to justify the situation to her. But there was no use; there was no way I could change her mind. To her, I will forever be the girl with the draggin' poo.