Yesterday I was standing for a good period of time outside two restroom doors, one labeled "Bronco", the other "Cactus". I had been waiting someone exit, so I could at long last decipher which bathroom I was supposed to use.
After five minutes, I started to realize that I had spent too much time enjoying the fine drink and company in the other room and should have sorted this issue out much earlier. It was getting late for these kinds of decisions, if you understand what I mean.
There are, if you think of it, many similarities concerning broncos and cactuses. And an abundance of differences. My problem was that none of those differences lent themselves to conjure up an image of a man or woman.
I am not a dullard. I graduated cum laude from a well-respected university. Neither am I unfamiliar with so-called clever bathroom names, having seen my share of "Buoys" & "Gulls", "Laddies" & "Lassies", and "Bucks" & "Does" in my travels over the years.
I was even able to decipher, after being led by a series of "TO THE JOHNS" signs, the correct choice between two doors labeled "Elton John" & "Olivia Newton John" (though I did catch my breath as I entered the former).
Yet yesterday afternoon I stood there in front of these particularly enigmatic doors with time running out.
Years ago, when I was confronted with similar doors marked "Gilts" & "Shoats", I was fortunate enough to catch a young lady eventually exiting. In Hawaii, I opted to use the facilities at a gas station across the street from a restaurant where I'd just spent ten minutes trying to translate "Kane" and "Wahini". (I, by the way, am both a "Kane" and "Shoat", though the latter is pushing it, even by the low standards set up by the establishment).
I will also inform you that there is nothing worse than finishing up in a restroom (say, when the choice is between "Pointers & Strikers") only to be greeted by the opposite sex upon departure.
Many times I have avoided confusion at these establishments by simply noting the inevitable line outside a women’s room.
But I had no such fortune on this day.
I had waited an eternity and I could delay no more.
I impatiently summoned a passing employee and informed him I needed to use the facilities at once and demanded that he quickly inform me in which of these two rooms was I to relieve myself!
"I hope neither, sir," he answered. "These are both private dining rooms."
He looked me up and down then pointed to a door down the hall clearly marked "Men’s Room".
This story would not be worth retelling, nor particularly amusing, if I failed to add that upon returning to my table I told my colleagues nothing of the incident and kept each drinking until they absolutely had to make the same trip down the hallway.
Or that I'm taking my wife back tomorrow.
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