A week ago I was meeting a friend of mine at C’est What in Toronto. We usually meet every Tuesday to plot world domination over a few pints and a hot plate of quesadillas. This little underground bar is not so little anymore. They’ve undergone an impressive expansion, including large clean new bathrooms. The urinal placement, however, is not one of my favourite design features. There is a little nook when you first enter the washroom, that contains two urinals on opposing walls, about six feet apart. This means that while you are tinkling the ivories, someone can come right up behind you and you cannot see who they are without twisting your neck like an owl. Most guys won’t move their heads more than 1 degree, so you get the clostraphobic idea. It’s like peeing with blinders on.
Anyway, I was standing there peeing, staring at the brown tile, when someone came into the room. I instantly became less relaxed, which as some of us know, disturbs the flow. I was hoping the man would go into one of the stalls, but instead I can sense him suddenly occupying a large portion of my personal space (which get’s larger when I’m doing ‘sensitive’ things). I hear a loud zip followed by the half-groan/sigh which accompanies the let-down reflex. Then I hear liquid on porcaline. I’m almost done, but am afraid to turn around because I know I’m going to brush his jacket. Suddenly, the small alcove is filled with cheezy music. I’m confused. Is this coming from the ceiling speakers? Why are they playing cheesy latin jazz in the can? Then I recognize the polyphonic rendition of the theme song for Sex and the City. I pause mid-stream.
“Hello?” The guy answers with one hand while finishing off with the other. Zip. He’s done. He leaves the alcove to wash his hands (with the phone crooked between his shoulder and his ear). I breath again and finish up. When I turn around, my entire idea of demographics is shattered. It’s a schleppy guy in his late 40’s in a bomber jacket. He looks like a pudgy version of Art Garfunkel.
The whole things felt so out of context that I started laughing before he was even out the door. Good thing it wasn’t a George Michael ringtone (Faith?) or I would have felt really uncomfortable. 😉
And while we’re on the topic of Sex and the City in Toronto: check out the latest Now Sex Survey results. Exceptionally interesting.
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