I don’t like public bathrooms with those button locks, you know, the ones that you can’t check because when you turn the handle the button pops. Without a latch. It’s worse when the the bathroom is large. When you’re at the toilet you can’t reach the door. You’re 90% sure it’s locked, but once you have your pants down you’re too far away from the door to do anything about it if you’re wrong and someone comes barging in.
You’d think I’d had a traumatic experience in a public bathroom. I haven’t. The lock on the door never failed me.
So what is this phobia? This underlying concern that the things that should work out…won’t?
I don’t like not being in control. I know I know. I live in a social world where I depend on the many wonderful people in my life. I live in a society where I depend on electricity and running water, garbage pick-up and grocery stores. I know that I cannot grow plants like my mother and father, cook like my husband or sister, fix things like my childhood best friend. My post-apocalyptic skill set is limited.
But it is when I am in a public bathroom, more than an arm-span from the door, when it really strikes me that so much of life is about closing your eyes and hoping for the best. So much is just trusting in the lock on the door.