Heaven's Bathrooms and other random places of the afterlife.

I found myself taking a break from the banter of family conversation, on a certain special occasion, some months ago, in the restroom of an esteemed Atlanta restaurant. I always find it abruptly uncomfortable and oddly comforting to walk into the restroom of such an exceeding quality as to have not only clean tiled floors and a fresh blast of cool floral scented air but to also find a gentleman waiting quietly near a sink with warm towels and mints.

I find myself pausing in the entrance, as if I'd taken a wrong turn, before forcing a casual heir back into my step and saunter toward a urinal. Decisions, decisions. Do I take a urinal out in the open for this man to stare at my back as I relieve myself or do I take a closed stall reinforcing that fact that I'm as insecure as a mouse staring at a lion?

I choose the urinal...No, the stall—because I do have to pepper the air with some of lunches chili dog (and to do that out in the open is just rude).

And so it hits me, as I drain a diet coke, how does one find himself (or herself) in the occupation of "Restroom Attendant?" Who the hell do you have to piss off to acquire the onerous duty of witnessing every bowel movement on any given evening in the life of a snob-infested restaurant? Suddenly it occured to me, "Who would be standing attendant in Heaven's bathrooms?"

And so begins this blog of random thoughts and musings of life, the afterlife and all the places inbetween.