More than a few freaky things have happened in the bathrooms at 21st Ave. Just look at them. But not all of those incidents have come complete with an absurd explanation to match. On Friday night, we had a table of four on the patio that consisted of three women and one man. So as not to be totally rude, I will describe the females like this: they totally sucked in every conceivable way, with the exception of their appearance. At that they excelled. Attractive, vile monsters one millimeter deep they were. Anyways, two of them, along with their male companion, decided to all go together to the women’s restroom and lock the door, where they remained long enough for a line of annoyed others to form outside. When I was informed as to the occupants, I naturally decided to attempt to halt the proceedings by pounding on the door and then going to retrieve the key. I thought that barging in would both solve the backflow problem and perhaps even provide a little visual entertainment to boot. But before I could proceed with my righteous invasion, the door opened and out poured the threesome. I asked the male why the hell he was in the bathroom with two women, and he decided to argue with me about why I would even ask him. It was then that one of the wretchedly beautiful monsters interjected and provided a most bizarre explanation. “He’s our doctor. We’re fighting.” is what she sassily said to me, looking not at all upset but rather as if that would explain everything necessary to defuse the situation. Of course it did no such thing, and actually fueled the contrary. I’m sure the look on my face was of confusion and disgust. My uttering of “What? He’s your doctor? You’re fighting? In the bathroom? What the hell does that mean?” only got me a smug smile from the she-demon and an offer to leave that was clearly submitted with the notion of assumed rejection because no man in the world would want three hot girls and their one male counterpart to leave a bar. I know this because her look of surprise when I accepted was blatantly obvious. Of course, everything about this explanation was crap, yet I remain perplexed as to its random nature and rather quick presentation. Why would two stupid, self-impressed, nightmarish, reasons-to-shutter tramps need a “doctor” to mediate an argument? And why would they decide to hold this session in the bathroom of a bar? And just how much clout has the title of doctor lost over the years? All of this irked me, but at least provided a reminder that although my job frustrates me to no end, it’s certainly never boring. It could’ve been even more exciting had I retrieved the key first and not even bothered to pound on the door. I’d have liked to have seen for myself just what kind of doctor I was dealing with. Hindsight is indeed 20/20.
Posted on: Tue, 22 Oct 2013 01:28:37 +0000
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