Handicapped Toilet Blues.
Thursday 6 September 2007
In the past two days, I've had rather unfortunate run-ins with disabled people. Specifically, at or near their own toilets.
You see, back in the day when I started working at this poxy place, we were informed that it was wisest for us to always use a cubicle when we wanted to go to toilet, even if it was just for a number one. The reason why makes sense - if you've had problems with one or two geezers all night, the last thing you want is for them to follow you into the toilet and smash you over the back of a head with a pint glass when you're having a slash. I mean, even doormen have some level of dignity they'd like to maintain.
So, I mused over this for a while, and figured the disabled loo was an even better bet - one, disabled toilets are always nicer. Have you noticed that? They're cleaner and they smell better. Clearly our limp-legged friends are quite demanding. Two, they come with a greater level of privacy. And three, sometimes, if you're careful, you can nip into one and spend a good 15-30 minutes in there dozing off while everybody else around you works. That's good livin'.
We have two disabled toilets at my place of work - one is down by the main bars and therefore far too noisy. The other is up beyond the restaurant, shielded by walls, and always nice and quiet. It's nearly always vacant, too.
Yesterday I went in there - to have a crap, if you're asking - and was getting down to business, and all was well. Now, when I pay a visit to the carsey at work, I have to remove my radio. You see, it's quite a heavy item, and once I've undone my belt it tends to fall on to the floor. This, clearly, is not productive. So, I remove the radio, and put it to one side. I always turn the volume well down as it can be quite loud when left on the highest point, which is where it always is when I'm wearing my covert earpiece. Oh yeah, I'm all hardcore, me.
Last night, however, I forgot about the volume. So I'm sitting there, and time passes, and la de da. Suddenly, Edmonson comes over the radio: "ADJ, I saw you go into the disabled toilet mate, and you might want to know that there's a handicapped bloke on crutches who's been waiting outside for ages." This, of course, came over VERY LOUD INDEED.
This was bad for two reasons.
REASON #1 - The person outside the toilet heard it all.
REASON #2 - I finally finished up, washed my hands, and opened the door, and said, without looking up, "Sorry mate..." And it was a woman. Bloody Edmonson. Okay, okay, she was fucking ugly, and built like a brick shit-house, but how do you recover from that!? He was laughing for about half an hour when I told him.
Tonight, I decided to chance my bog of choice again. The coast was clear. The restaurant had long closed and there was nobody around at all. So, I go inside, settle down to business... and less than a minute later I hear the familiar (but always hilarious) BEEP BEEP BEEP of some chap's disabled car, reversing up the hallway. In fact, there was a shit load more of BEEP BEEP BEEPs after that as the hallway is quite awkwardly narrow and clearly he had to three-point turn or something. Finally, he's done, and then instead of using his voice to enquire if anybody is inside the toilet, he favours banging on the door instead.
So, I'm rushing to finish - and why is it when you need to do this it's always at those moments when two entire rolls of toilet paper isn't quite enough? - and this bloke is banging away on the door. "Alright, alright," I say, "I'm coming, I'm coming." Not literally, I'll add - that would be very wrong indeed.
"Okay mate," he says, "Let me just back up so you can get out."
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
Oh, the humility.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 am
