Last Valentines Day I whisked my girlfriend off for a romantic meal at the local steakhouse. The steakhouse also doubled as a hotel, but I'm not rich enough to pay for a room (although I could see that's what she was hoping for). Damn, I had already disappointed her within a minute of arriving. "Oh well," I thought to myself, "at least things can only get better."
As we sat whispering sweet nothings over a candlelit table, waiting for our orders to arrive, I got the all-too-familiar feeling. The gutgoblins were pricking my stomach with their shitty sticks. I released the hand of my loved one, broke eye contact and mumbled, "Need to go to the toilet." A magical moment ruined by a bout of gut rot.
"No big deal," I thought. "I can make up for it later on." I navigated my way around the building, following an endless maze of "Toilet" signs that seemed to lead me up one flight of stairs and down two others. Finally I saw the door marked "Gents." Outside, three young boys were shouting at each other and jumping off the stairs, landing in crumpled heaps at the bottom. You know what kids are like. I dodged around them and entered the toilets.
Inside, the place was huge. There were six standing urinals, three sinks, and an entire row of cubicles that stretched the entire length of one wall. And the best feature of all: I was alone. I walked the row of cubicles, inspecting each one until I found the one that would suit me best (i.e. no piss on the seat or floaters that refused to flush).
I settled in quite nicely, taking my time with the movement, not rushing it and not forcing it. Then I heard the door open and the giggling of small children. Suddenly I was plunged into darkness. Fucking kids!
I was stuck. I had a brown roll hanging from my bottom and I was totally blind. I didn't even know which side the toilet paper was on! I fumbled around, desperately needing to wipe my soiled balloon knot. I felt the large cylindrical case that holds the industrial size rolls of paper and followed the curves down the outlet. NooooO! The paper had been torn off so that it was inside the case and not hanging out. I had to jam my hand in the slot to try and tease the paper out.
After what felt like twenty minutes (but was probably only thirty seconds), I managed to grip a piece of paper big enough for me to wipe with. The movement was swift and decisive. An army captain would have been proud of it.
I had cleaned as best I could in the dark, and I had managed to unlock the cubicle door. Now all I needed to do was to find the bloody exit. I headed in the direction that I thought was the right way and, without too much trouble, actually found the door. Then, just as I was leaving, another man passed me to enter the toilets. "The lights aren't on in there, mate," I muttered as I walked past. Somehow the old git managed to talk me into holding the door open for him as he took his leak so that he could see what he was doing. I had been gone ages and I was now feeling somewhat empty inside. I needed food!
Finally the old man finished. I didn't even bother to wait for him to reach the door. He could struggle just like I did.
I ran up the stairs (the kids had disappeared by now) and retraced the signs leading me back to my table. Through the window in the door I could see my girlfriend waiting patiently at our empty table. "Great," I thought. "I haven't missed the food." She looked up and I waved to her through the door. At this point I glimpsed something on the end of my finger. A small brown nugget was stuck to my fingernail and smeared all over the tip.
I can only assume that in the darkness I misjudged how I was holding the tissue, and effectively scraped the plop off with my naked fingers. All I could do was turn around, run back to the toilets and wash my hands.
I'm sure there's a moral in this story somewhere.
-- Honey Monster
