I went to the mall after work today to look at new cell phone plans. The one I have isn't that great of a deal and I can get a discount by switching to a certain company which shall go unnamed. Alright it's Cingular.
Anyhoodle, I had to walk through Sears to get to the main mall but needed the restroom first. After doing what it is one does in the restroom I went to use the sink and an old man with a shocking white combover and an imposing figure blanketed in black coveralls and a safety-lift belt (?) came up to me.
"You have to hold down the knob if you want it to stay on" he said.
"Thanks." I said.
It's common knowledge now as most restrooms have switched to the "Push N' Squirt" type faucet to save water (especially in Utah) but that was kind of him nonetheless. (is that really a word?) I started to lather my hands in the absence of water.
"No you gotta really hold it down if you...here." he said as he reached over and held down the knob for me so I could rinse my hands with THE LARGEST THUMB I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE.
That wasn't uncomfortable at all.
I quickly rinsed my hands off and thanked him to which he replied "Oh...well I use this all the time so I know how it works."
Indeed you do sir.
He lumbered closer to the sink to wash his hands and I was caught in an ethical dilemma. Do I hold the faucet down for gramps over here or do I bolt with my paper towel (used to open the door) and forget about it? He seemed like the type of person who didn't expect anything in return, but maybe he would like it if someone helped him just this once? Would my leaving without returning the favor only reinforce in his mind how much the world has changed and the kids are up to no damn good since he was a strapping young lad on the farm driving in his dad's old Ford through town and would even stop to pick up hitchhikers he would, because everybody's a somebody and if they don't have a car it don't mean they're gonna rob ya like a gypsy - unless of course Mary Sue was with him then it was straight to Merkley's Pond for a canoe ride and tuna salad sandwiches that Gus made from the cafe every Wednesday afternoon when the...
Damn you Garrison Keillor.
After my momentary lapse into Lake Wobegon Land I went with the modern-day chickenshit method and left him at the sink. He creeped me out. Sorry. He was very nice but it just wasn't going to happen.
As I opened the door (with my paper towel) I noticed on the cleaning log that Jesus apparently cleans that restroom. How nice. I shall have to comment on his excellent choice of air freshener to the manager.
Following the bathroom escapade I made it to the Cingular store where a VERY CHIPPER salesman gave me everything I needed to know and more about data and voice plans. It seems I can use my cell phone as a modem now and get internet access on my computer from that! Can you believe it? I mean, in MY day we had to hook up to a LAND line and a MODEM the size of a BOOK just to get our EMAIL and even that took all day! But with all this new-fangled technology people just aren't like they used to be. I mean, whatever happened to the time when...
Oh hell no. We're not going there. I am NOT that old.
So it was an interesting afternoon.
I'm hungry. I want fish.
PEACE OUT!!
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2 comments:
We do that all the time here. The restroom doorhandles be diseased, yo. We don't live in Shinykleenland like you.
Did you ever notice all of a sudden that you've been using a phrase over and over again without really noticing it? That it's wormed its way into your regular vocabulary without conscious decision on your part? Like, you hear somebody saying it one time and it just fills a void in your speech patterns so perfectly that you can hardly help repeating it?
I suspect I'll be having that experience with "Damn you Garrison Keillor" sometime soon.
Also: my dad has a whole system of ethics relating to opening the door to the public bathroom on the way out. Like: if the establishment has placed a trash receptacle within easy tossing distance of the door, then it is your responsibility to get the paper towel you used on the door handle into that receptacle, even if that means bracing the door open with your foot while you try for a bank shot. In practice, this means you have an ethical imperative to practice your free-throws.
On the other hand, if the institution has *not* seen fit to provide a convenient trash can, then they are showing a lack of concern for your personal hygiene (by implying you should open the door with your *bare hand*, quell horreur!) and you are well within your rights to drop the paper towel right on the floor; it becomes, not littering, but a selfless act of civil disobedience.
Ok, so it's not exactly "Just and Unjust Wars", but it's nicely thought out, nonetheless.
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