We got off the plane in Salt Lake City and the kids needed to use the toilet. I fed Ashlyn while they went. When they returned Brian burped Ashlyn and I went to the toilet. (We don’t go to the bathroom in Singapore, we go to the toilet.)
I entered the toilet and there was one lady in line. I assessed the layout. Ten stalls lining the wall ahead to the right. A bank of sinks on left wall. The lady ahead in line went into a stall as someone came out and I noticed two stalls sort of behind me as well. One door was open.
The lady ahead of me hadn’t used it so I approached slowly to assess. I poked my head around the door to check. Nope. It wasn’t a squatter. I went in. Just then it hit me like ton of bricks and I laughed out loud to myself. No Angie. It was never going to be a squatter. You’re not in Singapore.
Squatters are usually the end stalls or in the odd corner location and Americans are willing to wait longer in line for a sitter instead of use a squatter. That white woman in front of me had waited for a stall ahead instead of use the open door so it made sense to me what she was doing – waiting instead of squatting.
I’m not in Singapore anymore. It may take a few weeks to adjust myself.
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