Last weekend, Sarge and I went to the pub (OK, two pubs) to meet with friends and prove that he had survived meeting my mother. We left the first pub in search of another one with an accessible toilet.
I spend half my life needing to pee, and the other half looking for an accessible toilet to pee in. I have accepted this as an interesting/annoying part of my life, and go with it. Or not. (Pun maybe intended, I haven’t decided.)
Anyway. We arrive at what has become one of my favourite places to drink. Comfy couches, generous measures, and the much sought-after accessible toilet. A girl could get spoiled. Almost.
On this night, I ordered and made my way to the bathroom, where I did not have to pop my shoulder to lock the door. Maybe that was the problem, it was too easy.
Fast forward to turning to leave. And I couldn’t. No, there was no dubious graffiti to hold my attention (although, nothing beats ‘Stephen Hawking hates karaoke’ which I read off the wall of an accessible toilet in Glasgow once. OK, maybe twice.) No, the walls were clean this time.
The door that had been so easy to lock wouldn’t unlock. That’s right. I was locked in the toilet. By myself.
The latch was, um, bent. I tried to push it through with my nail(s), which until this point I’d wondered why I’d let them get so long. That didn’t work. I may have rattled. I may have banged. I may have looked for the emergency cord, which, when needed, wasn’t actually there. I may have cursed graduating from bobby pins in my hair. I may have shouted ‘Hey, you guys?!’ And then, ‘Lo?’ And then, ‘YO!’ I may have done all of these things. And then I banged some more.
Now. I wasn’t really worried. I just wondered at what point Laissez-faire would become ‘What the hell is she doing in there?’
There was a knock. I froze. Who would it be to spring me? And who would I be to them? Would I be my-loveable-kooky-girlfriend or some-random-crazy-bird-who-locked-herself-in-the-loo?
‘It’s me, are you OK?’ When Sarge became my Knight in Shining Army Boots, this was not in the job description.
‘Um, no. The lock is (broken). I can’t get out.’
‘Oh. Right. I’ll get the bar staff.’
And he might have said, ‘My girlfriend is locked in the toilet.’
‘They said to push the latch with your finger.’
‘Tried that. Not working.’
And I heard someone else. ‘Oh. Right.’ And then, ‘Stand back. I’ll kick the door in.’
And so. I parked between the toiled and the far wall, and actually shut my eyes. ‘Ready!’
As doors go, this one went quickly I suppose.
‘We’ll have someone fix that. Very sorry. Can I offer you a drink on the house?’
‘YES.’ I’d forgotten I wasn’t speaking through a door. ‘I think so. Yes. Thanks. And a round for my friends?’
We decided afterwards we should have ordered Champagne.
And so. If you ever want free drinks, consider getting locked in the toilet. And then don’t do it.
In my last post I bemoaned doors I couldn’t lock. I think I should be careful what I wish for, no?
What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done for free drinks or food?