tongs in the bathroom...

true story.

it happened at a bar in hoboken, which we'll call "the path". it's a busy friday night, and there is a great band playing upstairs. my female friend and i head downstairs to the bathroom, of which the men's room consists only of a couple of urinals and the ladies room of 2 stalls. the line for the ladies room is characteristically long, and the men's non-existant. (mostly because men don't bother washing their hands or arguably because we don't have to take the time to sit.) i return from the men's room to find my lady friend, who we'll call dubbz, as that's her name still standing where i left her, and the three ladies in front of her are banging furiously on the locked door. after a few minutes of this and quite a bit of trucker-style girl talk, the door is unlocked. inside you hear the moans of what sounds to be two chimpanzees humping like there's no tomorrow in one of the two stalls. that was funny, but the most entertaining part of this story involves the other stall. it consisted of a bowl, packed, not full, packed with a hefty helping of toilet paper. god only knows what else made up this bowl of stew, but it was plugged up to the brim and slowly dripping to the floor. the yelling ensued, the banging on the apparent 'double occupancy' stall continued. when finally and without warning, in walks "pancho the peruvian cook." donning nothing less than the traditional chef whites and apron and a pair of kitchen tongs. at this point, i don't think i need go on, but i will. with nothing but moans and moist-suction as a soundtrack, pancho digs into the toilet with his tongs, most likely previously laden with fried food particles, and scoops out the larger chunks of stew into an awaiting garbage can. he flushes the 'stewpot' and climbs the stairs back to his post in the kitchen. i can only hope that he threw out those tongs, though i'm sure we'd be lucky if he rinsed them under some cold water. i've never eaten in 'the path' nor will i ever after this incident. as for the chimpanzees, i never got a look at the two brazen skanks in the stall, although i would have loved to see their faces as they walked from the stall into the crowded hallway of angry ladies in urgent need of the stewpot...
the positive to this story: dubbz and i met some cool people while waiting for pancho and the chimpanzees to free up the bathroom as we shared instant cammraderie with the other folks in line, joining in the banging and chanting in the hallway...
UPDATE: (1/3/06) i was kindly reminded by my lady friend dubbz as to two parts of this story that i left out...i don't know how i forgot but i did.
1- during the banging on the stall while the chimps were banging and pancho was working on the stew, the other lovely ladies in the bathroom were tossing wet paper towel balls over the stall onto the humpers...it didn't stop them though...i guess that viagra stuff really works! go pfizer!
2- perhaps the most poignant part of the story, again not sure how i forgot this, blazened upon the stall wall in the ladies room were the words, and i quote: "THE ONLY BUSH I TRUST IS MY OWN!" i couldn't have said it any better myself. and it fit so well with the situation...

TO RETURN: