I'm using drugs in the bathroom...

This is a deeply embarrassing, intensely personal story about my private life and intimate details of my health.

Why of course I'll share it with you - people I know and love and random internet browsers who assumed I was the Mike Nagel of www.michaelnagel.com, who appears to be an aspiring, German soft-core porn star. (I assume the relation, if any, is distant at best... but, hey, I may turn down the same career path if it'll pay).

I was out in Boston with my friend Julie (see note below) almost a month ago. It was a crappy evening to be outdoors. It had snowed the day before, probably about 3-4 inches or so. Then, that day, the snow had changed to pouring rain, turning the city of Boston into one giant, messy bowl of slush.

There were puddles everywhere. And I mean everywhere. I walked from my apartment to the T that day. During one four block stretch, I trudged ankle deep in the icy soup. There wasn't a single dry inch of cement for me to step on.

My feet got soaked. And, as I was out for the entire evening, I wasn't able to change into dry shoes and socks. I knew what was in store for me the next day... Yes, it was the itching, the burning - I'd have myself a nice, fat case of athlete's foot.

Sure enough. It was there in the morning. It happens to me pretty much every time my feet get wet for an extended periodof time. It's not fun, but I deal with it and it always goes away after a day or two.

This time, though, it was different. The itching didn't go away. The burning didn't lessen. The opposite happened. The tops of the three outside toes on each foot turned red. I found myself constantly jamming the heel of one foot onto the toes of the other, hoping that the itching would go away. It didn't.

I bought a couple different creams from my local Rite Aid. There are a handful of medicines for athlete's foot - Tinactin, Lotramin, Lotramin, Baza, Lamisil. They come in shiny, brightly colored packages. Next to them on the shelves, were plain, white boxes. Those were generic medicines named after their respective active ingredients.

Being thrifty (or, as they say in Chinese, "dirt poor"), I picked up a tube of the generic stuff. The medicine is all the same, right?

Here's the problem... printed all over the box AND the tube are the words "Anti-Fungal Cream" in big, bright letters.

Yup, that's right... athlete's foot is caused by a fungus. And you need an anti-fungal medicine to get rid of it. But by trying to save a couple bucks, I wound up purchasing an extraordinarily embarrassing product. If caught with that stuff, I'd look like the smelly kid who infected the whole school with lice, the scruffy homeless guy that smells like cheese and someone with oozing facial blisters all rolled into one.

What is worse than fungus? It's just disgusting to think about... Lice can be washed away with shampoo, herpes can be protected against by a little rubber member sleeve, and sometimes that cheese smell is acceptable (ie: at a fondue place or a pie joint).

But fungus? Ewwwwww... even I'm disgusted and they're my own feet.

I'm a clean person. I showered twice today. I get my nails done. I buy quality soaps and shampoos. I have an array of cosmetic products that fill my bathroom mirror. Cleanliness is next to Godliness and I like to chill with J.C. I'm one clean mofo.

And yet, my feet are still killing me. From fungus.

Gah!

So, what this means is, for the last month, I've been buying different types of ANTI-FUNGAL CREAMS trying to find something that will make this disappear. I apply them liberally throughout the day - every couple hours or so. That's all well and good when I'm in my apartment, alone. But it doesn't work so well when I'm out in the real world.

I've taken to locating the solo-stall public restrooms when I'm out. Those are the johns that are made for just one user. They've got a lock on the door so you can ensure complete privacy. Once I find one, I slip a tube of fungus-fighter into my pocket and duck inside. I'll strip off my socks and shoes and slather up a coat of cream on my toesies. Then, I'll flush the toilet for effect and scrub my hands clean, trying to not only clean off the medicine, but also take with it the disgust and self-loathing that I feel.

The latter doesn't come off.

Thankfully, I procured a tube of industrial-strength, over-the-counter medicine without having to visit a doctor (I know a guy who knows a guy who knows people). I would have visited one myself, but since my current insurance policy includes the words "charge this guy $200 if you even look at him and both legs are still attached," I couldn't afford to. This new stuff is working... I'm even able to associate with the regular public without having to slink off to the bathroom for a fungus fix. The AF should be cleared up in a few more days or so, toes crossed.

Thank God that I won't have to furtively sneak into the bathroom anymore. It's a good thing I don't use cocaine or something... that lasts longer than fungus and you have to spend equal amounts of time in anonymous bathrooms.

Just say no to drugs, kids...

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Editor's note:
Julie (mentioned above) is a writer and a good one. Check out her latest column, which ran in the most recent issue of the Weekly Dig. She didn't ask me to post this and she's probably dying of embarrassment because I did, but frankly, she wrote a great piece and I wish I had thought of it first.