When I used to go with coworkers to George & Dragon in Phoenix after work on Friday nights I never thought twice about using the bathroom. (Unless it was a particularly busy night and there’d be a line.) Until I stopped one of the waitresses and complimented her on her many bangles. (From her wrist to practically her elbow she was laden with them!)
“Bells keep the ghosts away.”
“There’s a ghost here, but it doesn’t like the sound of bells and jingling so…” she wiggled her arm and a symphony of tinkling ensued. (Or perhaps it sounded more like a cacophony if you were a ghost.)
“Have you seen the ghost?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“No, but I’ve felt its presence in the ladies room. That’s no place for a ghost to hang out. I like my privacy. I don’t much like other humans in there when I have to go but I absolutely won’t go in there without my bracelets.”
I wouldn’t go into a bathroom without toilet paper, but that’s just me.
At any rate, I couldn’t help but think of that waitress a few years later as I used the bathroom in Harry’s. I sure sensed something in there, and was stunned when I later learned it might have been the ghost other psychics had tuned into in there.
My very next thoughts were, “Oh geez. How embarrassing. Thank goodness I didn’t have one of my tummy incidents.” (I have a nervous stomach that often likes to explode, especially after I eat.)
Ever since then I sometimes wonder about ghosts who haunt such places. The bathroom is not a place I’d choose to frequent as a spirit. (Heaven knows thanks to my stomach problems I’ve spent far too much time in bathrooms during my lifetime as it is!)
But this past weekend as my tummy again erupted after we enjoyed a wonderful dinner in the French Quarter and I found myself racing back to our hotel room at the Hotel Monteleone (rather than subjecting myself or anyone else to the humiliation of a public facility), I hoped and prayed any ghosts would give me privacy.
The next morning as I got ready to get into the shower I also said, “If anyone’s here with me now, I’d really appreciate you averting your eyes. Trust me, this is one body you won’t want to see anyway.”
Wayne was like, “Who are you talking to in there?”
“You’re one sick puppy.”
“I’m asking them to give me some privacy.”
“You think a perverted ghost haunts this hotel? That’d serve you right!” (Wayne was less than thrilled I’d booked us into a haunted hotel to begin with, but he was fit to be tied when I told him I specifically requested a room near any reports of paranormal activity.)
I didn’t feel the way I had in Harry’s, so I’m pretty sure the ghost of the Hotel Monteleone gave me my privacy when I was in the bathroom. But it does make me wonder how many ghosts have seen the living naked as they showered, dressed, used the bathroom, and got busy between the sheets.
I know, I know. The things I think about, right? But perhaps I’m not alone. Surely someone else out there has had to have wondered the same thing. Perhaps yourself?