Friday, November 28, 2008

The Great Bathroom Mystery

This an an account of someone else's story and the subsequent discussion that followed.

My friend JP was in San Francisco last week, sitting in a coffee shop with his friend Joe. Their table was close to the bathroom so they were able to vaguely note than a woman had slipped in without use of the key held behind the counter to prevent crazy homeless people from defiling their facility.

I guess since JP and Joe were not the designated toilet monitors, they were not required and subsequently did not stop the gentleman who obtained the key attached to a plastic spoon (am I the only person who finds these toilet keys utterly gross?) from the counter. The man proceeded into the unisex bathroom only to rush out quickly.

"OH. MY. GOD." he first said to no-one.

He then looked at JP and Joe and repeated "OH. MY. GOD."

JP asked him "What is it?", obviously taken by the man's horror which seemed to exceed to obvious discomfort that accompanies an accidental bathroom burst in.

"Oh my God." He may have said again. "There's somebody IN there."
And then he moved on, presumably returning they key, potentially paving the way for the mind blowing of another hapless coffee patron.

As if the story wasn't intriguing enough at this point, I delight in the ability to be able to tell you that there is MORE!

The startled gentleman, apparently homosexual in orientation, but by JP's account, this had nothing to do with the flamboyance of his reaction, was at the counter of the coffee shop when that bathroom victim/assailant approached him. Yes. SHE approached HIM. I listened with baited breath, expecting this ballsy San Francisco woman to scream at him for his audacity to intrude on her.

"Was that you?" she calmly enquired.

"Yes." he woefully replied.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that." she continued and left.


WHAT WAS SHE TALKING ABOUT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!!!

Upon JP's conclusion of this story, a discussion followed as to what could have happened. JP believed it was period related. I made a remark that suggested I thought it involved insertion of a tampon, but he made it clear that his belief was that it was tampon removal. Clearly a soiled tampon trumps a fresh one in the horror department. Gregg was not convinced. He said given where the incident happened, in the Mission near Dolores Park, this was not a place where women made any apologies for their periods. The fact that he couldn't count how many art shows he had been to which included "pieces" containing tampons soaked in menstrual blood only punctuated the idea that periods were to be embraced, nay, displayed, and apologies were certainly not made. The discussion continued.

We then moved over to another orifice. The one on the other side of the block. Was it some kind of bowel mishap that she was cleaning up? If she was simply caught sitting, that again was nothing to apologise for the other person having to see. No-one seemed to get behind the fecal disaster idea, or anything relating to periods or poop since both would have been taking place in the precise place they are supposed to occur and leave nothing to apologise for.

Our last hope was some sort of injection. We seemed to rally behind the notion that she was a diabetic and when the guy walked in, she had a needle in her arm. JP made it quite clear that she didn't seem like the junkie type and seemed quite collected when she came out of the booth of mystery. This was the best we could come up with, but still, there was an air of dissatisfaction in the car where this conversation had unfolded.

Any other plausible or creative suggestions? Comment away. Stephanie has privately contributed the possibility of a coat hanger abortion. Next!

I think it's safe to say that this story has ruined my life. I've already offered JP money to come to San Francisco with me where we will wait at the coffee shop, for however long it takes, until either party returns so he can identify them and we can ask them what the fuck was going on. Then again, the desire to solve the mystery might keep me alive with my unquenchable thirst to find out and I might break all longevity records and live to be 147 at which point I peacefully pass uttering the words over and over "I'm sorry you had to see that...".

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