So there I was stuck in traffic
in Manhattan in the middle of rush hour when the three cups of coffee and two
diet cokes I consumed at the meeting decided that it was time to loosen its
grip on me.
With nature calling, I stoically
looked around for a bathroom and a place to park. I knew if I could park, put
the flashers on and walk into a neighborhood bar and just keep going to the
back, I would find a bathroom and all would be well once again.
As the fates would have it, I
turned up the next street found a spot, turned on the flashers, ran out of the
car, headed into “Un-named Bar” and headed to the back. I found it. Relief at
last; pulling at the door, to my chagrin, it didn't open. When I looked up I saw
this sign on the men’s bathroom stall.
ARE YOU F&^%$#G kidding me I
said to the owner who basically told me to take a hike or pay up.
Running out, I found another
place and after some considerable thought about the first place decided that
instead of naming it, I would report him to whatever bureaucracy I could find
to listen to me.
Nevertheless, I will come back
again with a bunch of my friends and buy a few beers and we all will use his
bathroom. Oh yeah, we’ll use it like it
has never been used before…if you know what I mean.
