Florida: Heaven's Waiting Room

Upon landing at Tampa International Airport my bladder threatened to release the flood gates, leaving me standing in my own little puddle of urine, unless I found the nearest restroom. After meandering through the security line, in which of course they made me take off my Puma's, I darted for the little girl's room. I looked at the bathroom floor, and then at my naked feet. Thoughts of Britney McSpears barefoot at truck stop restrooms flying through my head, I decided to ignore the pressure and throw on the sneaks.

Another line. Doing a covert pee-pee dance (You know the one...left foot, shuffle right foot, squeeze. Repeat.), and glancing around at my surroundings, I noticed a young woman in front of me, staring in horror at something behind me. I followed her gaze to the sink and vanity area where a woman stood hunched, applying a mask of make-up. She must have been at least eleventy years old. I didn't see anyone propping her up (think Weekend At Bernie's), and no strings were visibly attached to her, so naturally I rationalized that she was a flesh eating zombie. With other-worldly, reddish-orange faux hair.

I peed. Then got the Hell out of the airport. If Night of the Living Dead was about to go down, I wasn't going to be a part of it.