In Hindsight: On the road to matrimony — another part in a seemingly never-ending series, Jan. 27, 2011

My new phone. Which is still dumb. Sigh.

On the road to matrimony — another part in a seemingly never-ending series

By JAMMIE SALAGUBANG – The Buzz
It’s been pointed out to me that I don’t seem to have much luck when I travel south to deal with wedding plans. My mom says there’s a Filipino superstition (isn’t there always) that engaged people should not travel too much. Apparently it brings on the bad luck.

I’m not inclined to agree with superstitions seeing as they encourage close-minded thinking and usually involve baffling feats, but what with the car accidents, near-flight misses and parking problems, I just may be leaning toward agreement with her now.

Especially after what happened last weekend.

I flew down to L.A. to meet with vendors. I got to the Sacramento airport in plenty of time, did not have to worry about parking, the security line was a breeze.

When the plane landed, I was feeling relaxed, calm and eager to tackle wedding issues.

I was also feeling a rather intense need to relieve myself.

I was carrying more stuff than usual. I had used my suitcase to bring down my wedding dress, and had packed an unwieldy duffel bag for the rest of my stuff. I also had a rather large bag with me to carry even more stuff. I was also wearing an overcoat.

I trundled all my stuff into a bathroom that was farther away than most because a.) I don’t like waiting in line; and b.) I think the ones that are farther away are less used and therefore cleaner.

I’m sort of a germaphobe. I carry around hand sanitizer; I keep my fingernails super-short because I don’t like thinking about particles that could get trapped under them; I double the seat-covers on toilets and then still hover above them; I try not to touch bathroom door handles with bare skin. In fact, I minimize bare skin contact in public restrooms to a, well, bare minimum.

All the stuff did not fit comfortably into a stall. I didn’t want to put the duffel on the floor because I thought that was too dirty. That didn’t leave any room on the hook for my bag.

I perched it on top of the toilet paper dispenser. I finished my business and stood up. And then it happened.

Somehow, I jostled my bag. I watched it fall in seeming slow motion toward the toilet. It hit the lip and bounced off and most of the stuff seemed intact inside the bag, but I had already heard a sickening “plunk.”

I looked into the bowl’s watery depths and there it was: my cellphone.

Luckily, I had already flushed. But thinking about what had been the contents of that bowl only minutes before and who knows how many countless times before that made my eyes cross in grossed-out horror.

I stood there wondering what to do, but realized waiting wouldn’t make the inevitable any easier.

I plunged my hand in and swallowed hard against my gag reflex. I rushed to the sink and proceeded to scrub my hands no less than four times. (With paper towel hand drying in between, because I read somewhere that that is what really gets rid of germs).

At least I got a new phone out of it.

Jammie Karlman is the entertainment editor for the Chico Enterprise-Record. Contact her at buzz@chicoer.com. Follow her on Twitter @JammieKarlman