It is often said that New York City has everything imaginable, but there is one thing that great metropolis lacks: public toilets. Most people never realize that until nature calls, at which point there is an imaginative scramble to find the nearest (and cleanest...and safest) restroom. In the touristy areas, this is not a problem – the big hotels have restrooms across their lobbies and/or conference room floors and it is too easy to wander in to use the facilities without generating suspicion. But in residential areas, that’s another story. Some time back, I was was walking down a street on New York's Upper East Side (a predominantly residential neighborhood) when nature came calling with a vengeance. I was on my way to meet a friend for dinner, but there was no way I could make it to his apartment without making a stop. As luck would have it, I spied a McDonald’s and tried to make it to their men’s room as fast as I could. Of course, McDonald’s and any eatery makes it clear that the bathrooms are strictly for the patrons. However, this particular urban McDonald’s was a split-level affair and the bathrooms were on the second floor. It was easy enough to slip in and head straight for the toilet without being bothered to place a Big Mac order. So I got to the bathroom and did my duty (or, in this case, my doody). Problem solved, right? And being one who believes in personal hygiene, I naturally soaped up hands at the men’s room sink and hit the faucets to wash myself clean. Except...there was no water coming out of the faucets. Neither hot water nor cold water flowed. So now I am stuck with soap-covered hands and no way to wash them off. I obviously couldn’t complain to the McDonald’s management, since as a non-customer I didn’t belong in their bathroom in the first place. After banging the faucets a few times, perhaps in hope that violent treatment would liberate the water, I left the bathroom and the McDonald’s with a new problem on my hands – literally. How the hell can I get the soap off my hands? And to make matters worse, it was a bright fluorescent pink soap – you couldn’t miss me walking around with pink, foamy extended hands and a very agitated look on my face. Miraculously, I passed a small grocery store with a sidewalk display of bottled water. This display consisted of a large bucket full of ice; the bottled water rested within the bucket, chilling for anyone in need of a drink. I wasn’t thirsty, but the idea of buying water to wash the soap off my hands seemed extreme. But what about the ice in the bucket? Ice is frozen water, after all. With no one from the store looking, I shoved my hands deep into the bucket and swished my soapy fingers and palms across the ice therein. My excuse, if I was challenged, would be that I was looking for a particular bottle of water that must have sank to the bottom of the bucket. Mercifully, no one came out of the store to ask after my weird behavior. After 15 seconds, I felt the soap must have been washed off my hands. In truth, I didn’t feel anything. After all, soaking your hands in a bucket of ice water is not conducive to healthy blood circulation. In fact, I was fairly numb after shaking off the excess ice water from my hands. Thus, I walked away from that bucket with frozen, wet hands. For the rest of my travel, I rambled about with my hands tucked beneath my armpits in a vain attempt to bring back warmth and movement to all points below the wrist. But then again, how many people endure frost-bitten fingers because of a raucous excretory system?
|
) to rate.
Facebook
MySpace
Twitter
Email
