To Pee or Not to Pee – That is the Question

a cartoon with pink background showing a woman trying to control her pee

I love reading food reviews. They offer some simplicity in the overwhelming world of culinary experimentation and ubiquity. I wasn’t as much of a fan as I am now. 

Since the pandemic struck and stopped the world, my love of eating out has been affected by paranoia. My risk appetite has reduced drastically. I no longer walk into a restaurant and hope the food is good. 

I research beforehand and decide on which joint to go to, primarily based on reviews. It is not foolproof, I must admit – but on average, that approach has burned me less number of times than simply walking into restaurants randomly.

So, I went to this cafe the other day; the reviews were decent. I placed an order before I had my ass touch the chair.

They filled in water at my table right away – check

They took little time to serve coffee and snacks – check.

The waiter came to check everything was good with my food – check

The coffee and food were good quality – check

Ambiance – check.

I was a happy camper – out and out. We had a great long chat – my friend and I. I also took that as a good sign, especially considering the depth of the conversation we had. 

I say so because I have been known not to be able to manage anything, even close to that, on an empty stomach. Things were working out nicely.

All that drinking and eating and chatting for two long hours was bound to lead to nature’s call. So naturally, I asked the waitress where the restrooms were. 

What followed was a series of seemingly complicated instructions. I only registered the words – lock, code, basement, elevators, and hallway. I felt stupid asking her twice. So I set out on a hero’s journey – how difficult could it be?

The first thing I did was go close to the elevators. Only because that’s the first thing I saw from the list of words that I could register. 

Then I looked around to see if a door or a hallway could take me to one. Serendipitously, the hallway ended at the door. And good for me, it was not locked. So I open it and find a flight of stairs down. 

The word basement came to mind. I walk down the flight of stairs and find another door. I open it, and bam! Janitor’s closet!

Wasted effort, I thought to myself and seeing that I have reached a dead end, I had no choice but to walk back up.

The idea of going up the flight of stairs to look for another door was daunting, having already established my top-notch listening/navigation skillsGoing back and asking the waitress would expose how stupid I was to the waitress and my date. So, that was not an option. 

The only other option is to clear the payment and run, like Forrest Gump, back to my apartment…where the washroom door is NOT LOCKED to a code.


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