June 4, 2005

• Driving back from an errand, I somehow find myself at a thrift store. I'm actually looking for something specific: a slide projector. None at this store. Time to move on. But...

  I need to avail myself of a rest room. I head for the counter, and ask one of the women, "Is there a rest room I can use?" She's tiny, and of an indeterminate oriental background. English is not her first language. She gives me a grave look. Instantly, I know that there is no rest room for customers.

  She says, "We had rest room, customers could go poo, but they went poo and broke and flood bathroom with poo..." She motions with her utility-gloved hands, as if doing an interpretive dance to express the magnitude of the overflowing fecal matter. "...so no more customer in bathroom."

  She looks at me warily. As though I might insist, as though I might grab her and whip her and demand that she let me use the employee rest room. Instead, I smile politely and say, "Ok. That sounds reasonable."

  This does not satisfy her, however. "So now no one can go poo in rest room. No customers." I nod. She goes on, "You can imagine, though, poo flow everywhere..."

  I am walking out the door. I turn back, "Yes, I can imagine..."

  I head to the McDonald's next door.

  • 9:04 pm
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