The Unintended Purpose

I entered the room and quietly waited for my turn. But it was the movements of another that caught my eye. There was something going on that was not a part of the intended purpose of that room.

He was at the far wall, standing next to the last sink. His back was toward me. I could hear the howl of the air dryer. He seemed to be hunching over it, but it was the movement of his arms that was not typical. And then there was that scrunched up black garbage bag at his feet.

After a few moments, he knelt down and pushed a pair of still-damp white athletic socks into the plastic bag.

And pulled out a pair of obviously soiled tighty-whities.

He positioned himself in such a way as to try and hide what he was doing, as if he were ashamed or something. But what he did do was un-scrunch that precious piece of wadded-up laundry, hold it under the hand-soap dispenser, hit the button a couple of times to dispense a blob of blue hand soap, wet the assembly under the sink spout, rub the folds of cloth together to make a lather, rub it on the impromptu scrub board of counter top, rinse, and turn to the hot air blow dryer.

For a moment I could see his profile. So similar to that iconic Charleston-Heston/Moses-in-the-Ten-Commandments-billboard-poster look.

And in that public men's restroom in a Pasco, Washington Public Library, godliness was doing cleanliness.

The Refectory Manager