There is something inherently wrong with the world. Worst still is my contribution, however unwittingly, to the avalanche of disaster that propels us round the sun.
Take yesterday as a case in point. I ate lunch at Cha-Cho’s. If you have any respect for yourself, in particular your digestive tract, never, ever eat there. If you should find yourself there, never ever ever ever ever ever ever order a full order of anything. They send out the most ridiculous sized portions, even for a Texan.
Shame on them.
Now, because I ate at Cha-Cho’s, my gut decided to revolt, and rightfully so. I was packing up my leftovers, which completely filled the to go box, when I had to run for the border, literally. When I busted into the baño luckily no one was occupying the turlet. Unfortunately, someone had used the seat as a urinal. Great. There I was, on a very finite schedule, and I had to clean up someone’s tinkle. I wish I had the ninja skills that the womerns I know talk about, i.e. holding themselves up doing the splits over the bowl. I know if I tried, I’d end up in the drink. Grudingly I mopped up the mess as best as the cheap turlet paper would allow.
Then as I’m taking care of business, several people came in. It might not be a big deal for everyone else, but for me, a constitutional is a very private matter. Sometimes one has to do what one has to do, so I plopped along. As I’m working, I hear someone say something about the urinal being too tall. Urinals too tall? Maybe for a midget. Whatever.
That is, until I see that someone peeking through the break in the stall wall and the door. If I hadn’t been right in the middle of dropping off the kids at the pool I would have passed a brick. I’m so glad I had the paranoid foresight to lock the door, cause I’m sure if it’d been open he might have just opened up to see what was the haps on the craps. I know it seems like I’m jumping to an unrealistic conclusion here, but he didn’t bother looking down for my very obvious feet. No, he went straight for a lookie-loo.
In this shituation, what do you do? Well, I couldn’t think of anything other than act as if it happens all the time. I flashed the friendly smile I use for people who occupy the elevator with me, or sit next to me on the bus, and I finished.
Finally, to add sprinkles to the cupcake, the substandard turlet paper broke repeatedly, besmirching my manicure.
The question now is, did I really learn something from this experience? We’ll see. I do seem to remember that the first time I ate there I told myself I was never going to eat there again, and look where that got me.
Double shame on me.
