A ferocious head cold is slowly attacking everyone I know, and this Wednesday evening, I accepted that I, too, am sick. And then I accepted that I wanted soup and I wanted it now. On my way home from a rehearsal, I stopped by Szechuan Hunan Chinese Restaurant to pick up as much Wonton Soup as I could carry.

While I was awaiting my food, I went in search of the bathroom. I initially assumed the door marked “Restroom” just off the dining room was the bathroom. I was wrong. It was actually a door that opened into a tiny landing at the top of a flight of stairs. On the left side of the staircase, there was a ledge with not one but three eroding air fresheners on it. They had long since reached their prime and were doing nothing to mask the putrid, bitter smell I was swiftly descending into.

At the bottom of the steps, there was a huge mirror that faced the stairs at such an angle it looked like you were going to meet up with another staircase when you reached the bottom (at least from my vantage point- this may have been a result of my flu-y state, though). When I finally did reach the bottom, I saw three doors. To my left, there was a door to the Men’s Room. Directly in front of me was the door to the Women’s Room. To my right, there was an open door, exposing a man in a room filled with freezers. He stood in the middle of it, hacking away at something undistinguishable. I was immediately convinced this was where they sent people only ordering four dollars worth of soup to go be murdered and locked myself in the bathroom.

Big mistake. You know the fake, flowery, chemical smell that’s supposed to make places seem clean but really just lets you know that nothing holy has ever happened in them? It was so strong in there that it burned my eyes. To top it off, the first few sheets of toilet paper were covered with some sort of slime.

After I left the bathroom and sprinted up the steps towards freedom, I realized I had a racing companion: the biggest fly I’ve EVER seen, who was hellbent on joining a few of his friends at the door to the dining room - the door that his little buddies were busily flying into over and over, in what I assumed was an attempt to escape the putrid bathroom area.

When even the flies want to get out, you KNOW its bad.

Image via fohn.net.