I will admit, I have been in my share of men's restrooms.
Once, many years ago at a theater in NYC where there was a short intermission between acts and a long line for the ladies' room, one of the women, in desperation, finally commandeered the men's room, and a bunch of us followed her in. My father-in-law (who was standing in a nearby hallway), never quite got over it. To hear him talk about it, you would think we had desecrated holy ground. Till the day he died, he couldn't pass a restroom without shaking his head and muttering something under his breath about Visigoths, Huns or Vikings.
Then there was the time at Versailles when one of the bathroom attendants motioned for a whole group of us to come over and use the men's room. Unfortunately, I was the last one in, last one out, and by that time, the men had reclaimed their turf.
I figured I had two choices at that point. I could either stay in the stall (which had a floor to ceiling door and one very tiny window) until they closed down for the night, or I could try to squeeze out the window. Just as I was measuring the size of the window against my butt (and the two were not compatible), someone started pounding on the stall door and rattling the handle.
Since they both looked old enough and therefore fragile enough to actually be from the reign of Louis IV, I decided to go with option three. I put my head down, wrenched open the door and beelined it for the exit. I still have the impression of a whole row of guys frantically hugging the walls imprinted on my brain. Not good. (That was also pretty much the end of my liquid intake for the day. Dehydration was definitely preferable to repeating that experience!) I could almost hear my father-in-law rolling over.
Last Sunday night though, the tables were turned.
We had gone to dinner at one of the old, historic hotels downtown, and I had visited the ladies' room, which was down a corridor off the main hallway of the hotel. As I was freshening my lipstick at the mirrors in the first of the two rooms, the door came flying open, a man stuck his head in and yelled, "Teresa!"
He halted briefly upon seeing me. "You're not Teresa."
No, and I can't tell you right now how glad I am that I'm not. "Can I help you?"
"No thanks, mind if I look in there?" he gestured toward the second door, even as he breezed by me and started to push it open.
"Um, sure." Don't mind me, I'm only in the ladies' room.
"Teresa, are you in here?"
A muffled, "I'm putting my lipstick on," answered him.
"Well, I'm ready to leave. Now." Wow. Whatever happened to a five minute warning?
With that, he strode back out, nodded at me, and said, "Thanks."
Sure. No problem.
I never did see Teresa, but when I exited, there was no sign of the guy in the corridor or the hallway, and I thought I heard a soft male chuckle.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
The Joys of Air Travel
Once again, this week I was on a plane. And once again, it was an ... experience.
First, we were delayed taking off because our flight crew was coming from another plane that was late landing.
I thought, "Good opportunity to use the restroom." So did everyone else, which is why there was a stampede for the one, tiny, little room that resulted in a line longer than the Great Wall and slower than a herd of turtles walking through quicksand. Oh well, it was just a thought.
Upon boarding, we were all told, in no uncertain terms, to take our seats immediately, so that we could leave ASAP (okay, we were not the ones who were late getting here!). Doing so, we discovered our seats were directly in back of a family with a very, very unhappy child. This kid was hitting notes Whitney Houston could only dream about. Even the flight attendants were shushing him.
As we sat there at the gate waiting for "instructions for the flight" (Instructions?!? The pilot needed instructions ? He didn't know how to fly the plane?), one of the flight attendants took pity on us and offered us two seats up front in the third row.
Before he had even finished explaining where the seats were, we were bolting up the aisle like a couple of racehorses at the Kentucky Derby.
Our new seats were much, much better. Here, the screaming child was one row up and across the aisle. Now we only needed to put our hands over our ears instead of trying to stuff them into them. Well, at least it was near the bathroom, and perhaps I actually had a shot of getting in there this time.
No sooner had we settled in though, than the "fasten seatbelt" sign came on and the crew warned everyone to remain seated. We hadn't actually moved away from the gate yet, but apparently they wanted to be prepared to go as soon as the pilot figured out how to put the plane in reverse.
One poor passenger committed the crime of standing up to get his jacket and was chastised over the PA system before being pounced on by two flight attendants. I decided to remain seated rather than risk public humiliation and having to write a one thousand word essay on why it is important to follow directions.
Finally, Doogie Howser got us airborne. Before I could make my way to the bathroom though, a guy from somewhere behind us came running by and locked himself in there for a nice long stay. Uh oh. Not good.
And it got worse. He had to page the flight attendant for help. When he eventually stumbled out, the bathroom was declared "off limits" for the duration of the flight while those of us up front were enveloped in a cloud of vanilla scented spray deodorizer.
So let's see. So far we had been delayed, had our eardrums pierced, been denied bathroom facilities, and now we were experiencing crop dusting from the bug's point of view.
Thankfully, it was a fairly short flight, and we were able to pamper ourselves in the arrival terminal with luxuries like multiple bathrooms, clean air and a decibel level below four thousand.
Yes, I just love to fly.
First, we were delayed taking off because our flight crew was coming from another plane that was late landing.
I thought, "Good opportunity to use the restroom." So did everyone else, which is why there was a stampede for the one, tiny, little room that resulted in a line longer than the Great Wall and slower than a herd of turtles walking through quicksand. Oh well, it was just a thought.
Upon boarding, we were all told, in no uncertain terms, to take our seats immediately, so that we could leave ASAP (okay, we were not the ones who were late getting here!). Doing so, we discovered our seats were directly in back of a family with a very, very unhappy child. This kid was hitting notes Whitney Houston could only dream about. Even the flight attendants were shushing him.
As we sat there at the gate waiting for "instructions for the flight" (Instructions?!? The pilot needed instructions ? He didn't know how to fly the plane?), one of the flight attendants took pity on us and offered us two seats up front in the third row.
Before he had even finished explaining where the seats were, we were bolting up the aisle like a couple of racehorses at the Kentucky Derby.
Our new seats were much, much better. Here, the screaming child was one row up and across the aisle. Now we only needed to put our hands over our ears instead of trying to stuff them into them. Well, at least it was near the bathroom, and perhaps I actually had a shot of getting in there this time.
No sooner had we settled in though, than the "fasten seatbelt" sign came on and the crew warned everyone to remain seated. We hadn't actually moved away from the gate yet, but apparently they wanted to be prepared to go as soon as the pilot figured out how to put the plane in reverse.
One poor passenger committed the crime of standing up to get his jacket and was chastised over the PA system before being pounced on by two flight attendants. I decided to remain seated rather than risk public humiliation and having to write a one thousand word essay on why it is important to follow directions.
Finally, Doogie Howser got us airborne. Before I could make my way to the bathroom though, a guy from somewhere behind us came running by and locked himself in there for a nice long stay. Uh oh. Not good.
And it got worse. He had to page the flight attendant for help. When he eventually stumbled out, the bathroom was declared "off limits" for the duration of the flight while those of us up front were enveloped in a cloud of vanilla scented spray deodorizer.
So let's see. So far we had been delayed, had our eardrums pierced, been denied bathroom facilities, and now we were experiencing crop dusting from the bug's point of view.
Thankfully, it was a fairly short flight, and we were able to pamper ourselves in the arrival terminal with luxuries like multiple bathrooms, clean air and a decibel level below four thousand.
Yes, I just love to fly.
Friday, April 18, 2008
How Can I (Not) Help You?
Not only did Tim's trip get off to a comical start, but a rocky one as well.
About an hour after he had gotten on the train, I realized that he had forgotten to pack his medicine. A few calls later, we found out that if we called our doctor with the number of a pharmacy, she could order a temporary prescription for him.
Getting online, I quickly found a list of pharmacies that were open twenty-four hours, but since I am unfamiliar with the area (he was actually staying in Jersey), I couldn't tell which ones were close to his hotel.
Quickest way: Call the hotel and ask them. Not.
First call: -Hi. I'm looking for someone there who can help me find a drug store near the hotel.
-Hold Please.
John Denver song. Julio Iglesies song. I hung up before Willie Nelson warbled out a tune.
Second call: -Hi. I need to speak to the concierge.
-Oh, you're the one who needs a drug store, right?
-Uh, Yeah. (Did I call the hotel or the psychic hotline?)
-We don't have a concierge at the moment. Hold on and I'll connect you to someone though.
Oh good. Someone. Someone helpful, or someone who will aggravate me? She went with option number two, but only after subjecting me to a lovely little ditty by KC and the Sunshine Band.
-Hello, you need a drug store near the hotel?
-Yes. One that has a twenty-four hour pharmacy.
-We have an Eckerd down the street.
-I know, but it doesn't have a 24-hour pharmacy. I pulled up a list online, but I'm not sure which ones are close to the hotel.
-Eckerd is closest. You'd need a ride to get anywhere else. I can pull up a list online though.
-(in my mind) Grrr. (out loud) Actually, we are coming from the train station, so I already have a car. And a list. I just need--
-We also have a shuttle bus that will take you to Eckerd.
-(in my mind) Okay, whatever Eckerd is paying you, I'll double it if you don't say Eckerd again. (out loud) Look, I'm going to read off the addresses of several CVS pharmacies, and you tell me which is closest to the hotel, okay?
-There aren't any CVS in the neighborhood, but...(if he said the E-word again, I was googling Tony Soprano and asking for a favor)...I can give you directions or get a cab for you.
--(in my mind) I don't want a cab, or a shuttle, or directions. I just want a yes or no as I read you the list. Think you can do that? (out loud--well, actually, that was out loud.)
Quickly, I started running down the list.
#1: he knew the road, but not exactly where on the road it was. Maybe ten minutes away. He could...Before he could repeat a previous suggestion which would get him killed, I moved on.
#2: closer to the train station than the hotel. Next?
-Wait. This one is close to the station? Do we pass it on the way?
-Yes. But we can take you there from the hotel, or you might want to go the the first one on the list because it is only ten minutes away.
-(out loud. And this was nowhere near a bad as what I was really thinking) Sure, we'll pass the one on the way from the station, come to the hotel, get rid of our car, and then you can get us a cab and give us directions to the other one. Thanks. That would be a huge help.
-Well, uh, (perhaps he sensed the sarcasm? Finally?) Don't you want to check in first, then go to the drug store?
For his safety, and to preserve what little was left of my sanity, I hung up and called the doctor.
About an hour after he had gotten on the train, I realized that he had forgotten to pack his medicine. A few calls later, we found out that if we called our doctor with the number of a pharmacy, she could order a temporary prescription for him.
Getting online, I quickly found a list of pharmacies that were open twenty-four hours, but since I am unfamiliar with the area (he was actually staying in Jersey), I couldn't tell which ones were close to his hotel.
Quickest way: Call the hotel and ask them. Not.
First call: -Hi. I'm looking for someone there who can help me find a drug store near the hotel.
-Hold Please.
John Denver song. Julio Iglesies song. I hung up before Willie Nelson warbled out a tune.
Second call: -Hi. I need to speak to the concierge.
-Oh, you're the one who needs a drug store, right?
-Uh, Yeah. (Did I call the hotel or the psychic hotline?)
-We don't have a concierge at the moment. Hold on and I'll connect you to someone though.
Oh good. Someone. Someone helpful, or someone who will aggravate me? She went with option number two, but only after subjecting me to a lovely little ditty by KC and the Sunshine Band.
-Hello, you need a drug store near the hotel?
-Yes. One that has a twenty-four hour pharmacy.
-We have an Eckerd down the street.
-I know, but it doesn't have a 24-hour pharmacy. I pulled up a list online, but I'm not sure which ones are close to the hotel.
-Eckerd is closest. You'd need a ride to get anywhere else. I can pull up a list online though.
-(in my mind) Grrr. (out loud) Actually, we are coming from the train station, so I already have a car. And a list. I just need--
-We also have a shuttle bus that will take you to Eckerd.
-(in my mind) Okay, whatever Eckerd is paying you, I'll double it if you don't say Eckerd again. (out loud) Look, I'm going to read off the addresses of several CVS pharmacies, and you tell me which is closest to the hotel, okay?
-There aren't any CVS in the neighborhood, but...(if he said the E-word again, I was googling Tony Soprano and asking for a favor)...I can give you directions or get a cab for you.
--(in my mind) I don't want a cab, or a shuttle, or directions. I just want a yes or no as I read you the list. Think you can do that? (out loud--well, actually, that was out loud.)
Quickly, I started running down the list.
#1: he knew the road, but not exactly where on the road it was. Maybe ten minutes away. He could...Before he could repeat a previous suggestion which would get him killed, I moved on.
#2: closer to the train station than the hotel. Next?
-Wait. This one is close to the station? Do we pass it on the way?
-Yes. But we can take you there from the hotel, or you might want to go the the first one on the list because it is only ten minutes away.
-(out loud. And this was nowhere near a bad as what I was really thinking) Sure, we'll pass the one on the way from the station, come to the hotel, get rid of our car, and then you can get us a cab and give us directions to the other one. Thanks. That would be a huge help.
-Well, uh, (perhaps he sensed the sarcasm? Finally?) Don't you want to check in first, then go to the drug store?
For his safety, and to preserve what little was left of my sanity, I hung up and called the doctor.
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