The Toilet Fiasco

Let me preface this by saying that I am not some sort of raging alcoholic. Actually the rough opposite of what I do with my days involves drinking alcohol and partying. Unless, that is, you consider forcing a frantic and cold-hearted bird-beast with no feelings and a beastly heartless bird body to love me as the height of revelry. In which case you need to get out more (or, if you’re Dumpling, you’re NOT EVER going to get out until you freely feed from my hand and love me).

Right.

So, in short, the story that I’m about to tell you about my weekend bender should be taken as evidence to support – not contradict – my non-partying, non-drinking ways. Were I a seasoned alcoholic, none of the events would have taken place (or at least not in such a terrifying manner).

Here it goes:

As many of these stories tend to, mine started off innocently with Swedish-themed feasting and a couple of homemade cocktails. Unfortunately things unravelled rather quickly and – some memories missing here – I ended up at a little gay club with Simon.

Furthermore, since the events leading up to that moment involved pounding down what turned out to be an entire bottle of gin, I also found my bladder calling for sweet relief. So I politely excused myself from the company of a giant bunny and made my way to the ladies’ bathroom, my body tingling with the thought of the elation I would soon feel.

Then the worst possible thing happened: the door was locked. Locked! Can you imagine? I thrashed the handle in disbelief, and then promptly inspected the walls for possible secret entrances, muttering madly under my breath. Observation: I get a little paranoid when I’m drunk.

I even gave a broom closet a try (beggars can’t be choosers).

When this failed I had an epiphany. Right then, for no logical reason, I became convinced that the female toilet had been locked by the staff on purpose. I was sure of it and the realisation forced me into a kind of panicked desperation. Why would anybody ever do such a thing? I clawed at the door hoping that maybe somehow I’d get through. Then, finally, thought about tearing my pants off.

Luckily good sense prevailed and instead I walked back into the bar, accosted the first stranger I could find, and in drunk, slurring, broken German explained that I needed to pee pretty badly, DESPERATELY actually. The pee baby inside me was ready to storm screaming into this world and anybody attempting to stop it would inevitably have their head kicked in…and by some mix-up, the female toilet was locked. Then, like a savvy woman of the 21st century world who knows what’s what, I concluded with the German version of, “izzz pruuubly locked khhoz I’m dee only woman in heeere.”

As good fortune would have it, the stranger was as delighted by my German as he was moved by my plight, and followed me into the female toilet hallway to help me thrash at all doors in the vicinity.

This didn’t work so, feeling understandably outraged, he thundered over to the bar and with Law & Order conviction demanded that the female toilet door be unlocked. Immediately! Surprisingly this didn’t have the intended effect; the bar guy merely shrugged and, ignoring the theatrics or the dangerous way in which I was looking at his sink, claimed that the toilet was open.

It made no sense. If it was open why couldn’t I get in?

Then my answer walked out and briskly made itself scarce.

Not for one second had I entertained the notion that someone might have been using the coveted female toilet. I hadn’t considered the possibility that while I was thrashing around like a banshee on crack, a frightened German woman was squatting over the toilet bowl paralysed by the thought that I might actually get in.

Under normal circumstances I would have died of embarrassment or at least started digging a shallow grave before encouraging my friends to hit me over the head with a shovel and bury me in it. But since I was rather drunk, I found the woman’s curious behaviour delightfully puzzling.

“Why didn’t she just shout?” I laughed, as if though she was the crazy one. “Did you see the way she shuffled off?”

Yeah. Good stuff.

ummm…The End.