I used to work in a fancy restaurant in the CBD. This restaurant will remain nameless simply because I think that they’re fantastic people and association with me will no doubt cause them some embrassment.

In order to get to this restaurant I would walk to work through the botanical gardens. One day I was walking into town and happened to be running two hours early because I didn’t check the roster correctly. Rather than go home and come back out later I decided to have an ice cream in the park, this was followed by a large drink because Australian summers can be a bit warm from time to time.

After the consumption of all this fluid I felt the need to relieve myself, so off I trundled to the nearest public toilet. I was vaugely aware that this public toilet was a beat used for cottaging (for the uninitiated, a place where married gay men go to cheat on their wives with other married gay men). Personally I must confess that cottaging is not my forte, I just find the smell of fecal matter to be counteractive to any desire I may have to engage in intercourse.

Finding myself the cleanest stall available I sat down to relieve my full bladder. Almost instantly the door to the bathroom opened and someone else walked in and sat down in the cubicle next to mine. This wouldn’t have been particularly akward, however, almost as soon as he sat down I heard him call out, “Hello.”

I prayed that I had imagined the greeting, alas, to my dismay, the greeting was repeated, and at a much increased volume. “Hello,” came the cry from the next stall once more, “Can you hear me?”

“Uhh, hello,” I stuttered, in the hopes that all this was an innocent request for toilet paper. Unfortunately, the next question caught me off guard. “Ohh, hi, how are you?” came the voice that still haunts my nightmares about public toilets.

“Umm, I’m fine thankyou,” my voice squeaked in fear. If the previous question had caught me off guard, the next question left me bewildered, “So, what are you up to?” Came the gruff voice of my unseen conversationalist.”

While it was true that I had only entered the facilities to relieve my strained bladder, this guy was almost making me s**t myself, so it was entirely honest when I replied, “A little poo.” For reasons that I will never comprehend I suddenly tacted on the question, “What about you?”

It was then the voice in the next stall hesitated, then he continued, “Yeah, look mate, I’m going to have to phone you back later. Some d**khead in the next stall keeps answering all my questions.

Related posts:
on the train to training (part 2; reading today’s metro)
singing
on the topic of marriage and religion
Rise and shine (or cough as needed)
i almost forgot

Written by Adrian on 19.03.07 at 4:53 pm.