Recently, I was in Maine where my sister's in-laws hosted a long weekend with 10 family members. At this idyllic spot on the Knickerbocker Lakes, they have a "camp" with several houses, many bedrooms and many baths. The first evening the next to the shortest person asked, "So what's with the upstairs shower? It plastered me to the wall!"
I can't quite remember what caused that to happen. Perhaps it was a nozzle that would not adjust or the good water pressure that created ballistic force. Her plastering shower tale, however, triggered stories and memories of other shower incidents.
My sister remembered that a former neighbor went to an exclusive West Virginia spa. All attendants dressed in white, so they closely resembled old-fashioned hospital workers, not those at a luxurious spa. Fully unclothed was the rule for showers, which were given by white-coated attendants with hoses. Yes, hoses. The guest heard the female attendant say, "Hold your breath." She obeyed. When the attendant turned on the nozzle, the force was so great that the woman fell to her knees. What the attendant had really said was, "Hold your breasts."
My memories of showers are mostly of those on trips. The house where I live, and where I grew up, has no real showers. Current building codes do not allow showers on outside walls, so all bathtubs would have to be turned. We could put a curtain ring around the claw-footed tubs, but I like an unobstructed view of trees outside the third-floor window while soaking. Before surgery years ago, we rigged up a second-floor shower by putting a hook for a shower nozzle high on the untiled wall of my bathroom. My husband constructed a box of bamboo sticks, and we hung shower curtains on all four sides. I used that shower for the months after surgery then returned to the third-floor bath A.S.A.P.
A friend who lives in a classic old Baltimore apartment says that throughout each shower she keeps her hand on the hot water faucet. Their shower suffers from inexplicable surges of steamy water.
At another friend's house on Long Island, the plumber incorrectly installed the all-in-one shower handle. Scalding hot water comes first then cool, so all guests must be warned.
At her New York apartment, the same woman had a cat that used to spring up onto the shower curtain rod terrifying guests who forgot to shut tightly the bathroom door. Because I am very modest, I never experienced that kitten gazing down at me.
Other friends have a cat that also enjoys being in the bathroom during showers. He lies on the bathmat while the room steams up then exits at the first whir of a hair dryer.
When I attended a college with 19th-century dormitories, girls yelling "Flushing!" could be heard down the corridors. Those flushing toilets gave that warning to those using showers. If one failed to warn, scalding water pounded the person showering. For years after college I felt the urge to yell "Flushing!" even though I lived in a modern apartment.
At the summer camp my sister and I attended, we showered for six weeks every summer. The showers were wood stalls on the lower level of the director's house, and the hot water tank was not very big. We could not luxuriate in these showers, however, or all who followed were stuck taking cold showers. Who wants a cold shower?
Another friend remembers that at her camp on the Eastern Shore, the showers had no curtains. The girls, being modest, showered in their bathing suits. The boys reportedly did not. Despitemany dares, my friend never went to check.
At a cottage our family rented in New Hampshire, the rusting metal shower stall, with no light above it, freaked out my sister and me. It was too dark and had spiders in the corners. My father each night built a fire in the fireplace then retreated to his bedroom while we took sponge baths. One cold night he built a huge fire. Soon my mother smelled something burning, so out of the house we went in underwear and wool school blazers, while volunteer firemen extinguished a chimney fire that also scorched the roof. I am sure the owners were pleased.
When my husband attended the all-male Baltimore City College, everyone in those days had to shower before swimming au naturel in the pool. No shower shoes were required, so athlete's foot and plantar warts were rampant. Apparently, there was also lots of smoke in those showers. Boys hid cigarettes and matches under their armpits when entering then lit up and smoked while showering.
Despite enjoying the quickness of a shower, when given the opportunity, I think I'll stick to gazing at trees while soaking in our third-floor tub.