Crisitunity

Guy: "Sorry you have to spend your night telling people how to use the sink."

Y.E.L.R.A.: "It's what I signed on for. Eh, what can I do?"

I could quit.

So I did.

The story goes like this: Business at the restaurant has been very slow these days. The beginning of the year is not the best time to be working in a restaurant. Plus, it's been raining like the dickens in San Francisco the last month. I also have the theory that the restaurant is seeing its last days. Whatever is causing this drop in business led to the beginning of the end.

I was waiting at the BART station at 24th and Mission last Wednesday (3/29/06) night at about 5:30. I couldn't help but notice that the Daly City bound train wasn't going anywhere. It eventually dawned on me that maybe I should turn off my iPod and listen to the announcements. The announcer told everyone that there was currently a 20 minute delay. Then, it was a 25 minute delay. Then, thirty minutes. Finally, they decided to close the station.

What was I to do? I had to get to work. I decided that I would walk up 24th Street and catch the J train that would take me downtown. Sure, it was a bit slower, but I had to get to work one way or another. I called work to let them know that I would be late.

"Where are you right now?" my manager asked.

"I'm still at the BART Station, but I'm gonna try to take the J," I said.

"Oh, um... just stay at home. I guess no one told you, but we're cutting you down to Friday and Saturdays for right now. Business is a little slow."

"Okay. Do you know how long this is going to last?"

"We don't know right now."

This came to no surprise. I looked at the schedule the week before and noticed that I was only scheduled for Friday and Saturday. Seeing as how I never relied on the schedule (nor knew that it existed) until recently I chose to ignore it. That's my fault.

I wasn't too hurt by all this. I was really starting to hate the job. I hated when people gave me weird looks when they entered the restroom. I hated being ignored when I told people to have a good night. I hated dealing with young, rich, snobby people, especially the Euro Trash. I hated looking at fake boobs and too much makeup. I hated seeing 2-plus-caret engagement rings that made me feel that what I gave my fiance was inadequate.

Two nights a week does not pay the bills. I was really faced with a dilemma. Should I stay until business picks up or should I get another job? That night my fiance and I went for a walk. I noticed a store in the neighborhood was hiring. I made a mental note that I should visit the store in the morning.

And so I did. I got a new job. It's not glamorous, nor does it pay top dollar. It'll suffice for now. If I don't like it I can always get a new job. It's a job, not a career.

I enjoyed my Thursday evening. We went to a Noise Pop show at the Bottom of the Hill. We saw Her Space Holiday, +/-, Loquat, and Pants Pants Pants.

Despite the fact that I was enjoying the evening I was also caught in another dilemma. Will the new job be enough? Should I stay at the restaurant? The new job would allow me to have nights free, while the restaurant would pay more.

I came to a decision on Friday night. I was really not enjoying that night. People seemed a bit more obnoxious than usual. Finally, I saw my general manager at about midnight and told him that I wanted to put my two weeks in. He said that he was okay with that and wanted to talk to me about it Saturday.

Saturday came and I went to work. As soon as came in, the GM spotting me. He said he wanted to talk to me. We went into one of the private dining rooms and we talked.

"So, that was a kind of seredipitous conversation last night," the GM said.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm really sorry about this, but we were planning on getting rid of the position all together anyway. I have your check for you."

"So, you don't need me tonight?" I said trying to hold back my glee.

"Yeah. I talked to [the owner] and I told him you put in your two weeks, but he just said to tell you that you don't have to do it anymore."

Well, that's a weird outcome. Did I get fired or did I quit? I don't know. Regardless, it's over. Don't hold animosity towards my GM. He is a really nice guy and easy to talk to. I don't blame him. In fact, I may still be working at the restaurant in a different position. Time will tell. Either way I think I'm covered (*crosses fingers*).

I went home and enjoyed my first Saturday night off in a long time.

So, what is the future of Confessions of a Restroom Attendant? There's not much future. I will keep this up for some time so you can read the archives. However, leftovers may be viewed at Espied in SF. I would really appreciate it if you stopped by. I created the new blog today in efforts to chronicle overheard conversations, graffiti, and other otherwise overlooked things in San Francisco.

Thanks for reading Confessions of a Restroom Attendant.

Mark

Please, for God's Sake, Leave Me Alone

Suit: "Is there a lot of drug use in this bathroom?"

The Happiest Place on Earth

German Lady #1: "Have you been to Disneyland?"

German Lady #2: "In Los Angeles?"

GL #1: "Yes."

GL #2: "Oh, yes."

GL #1: "Well, this bathroom is so much like Disneyland. You know what I am talking about? Alice in Wonderland!"

GL #2: "Oh, yes."

Y.E.L.R.A.: "Or Mr. Toad's Wild Ride."

GL #1: "Oooh. That, too."

Well, La Di Da!

After admiring the sink.

Man: "We were doing this remodeling deal and my architect tried to talk me into formed concrete counter tops. I told him 'no'."

Filipina: "How many people can say 'my architect'? That's the difference between you and me, Joe. You can claim to have an architect."

Yeah, But I Only Have Water

Guy: "Can I order a drink from you?"

Apparently There Are Stupid Questions

Guy: "Is the water infused with some sort of antibacterial?"

Y.E.L.R.A: "Sir, the soap is right in front of you."

I'm Detecting a Pattern Here

After explaining how to turn on faucet:

Drunk Guy: "I'm... I'm kinda retarded."

***************

Same situation, different guy:

Different Drunk Guy: "Oh yeah. I forgot. Maybe it's because every time I'm in here I'm hammered."

Her Mother Forgot to Tell Her Just One Thing About Boys

Woman in Stall #1: "Are you sitting or standing?"

Man in Stall #2: "I'm standing!"

Ugly Love: A Story of Gross Misconduct

While Y.E.L.R.A is all for love and a couple's right to give each other affection there is a line that must not be crossed. I say this because Saturday night was chock full of ugly love.

The first instance of ugly love arrived when a man and a women used the restroom. After they finished they decided to sit on a chair right outside of the restroom and make out. Seeing as how there is no door to the restroom I had full view of their actions. I tried to ignore it as much as possible. Yet, I could not prevent myself from checking from time to time to see if they were still going at it. For a full fifteen minutes they sat on the chair, feeling each other up, and attempting to swallow each other. That was a long fifteen minutes.

About halfway into this ordeal I walked into the storeroom -- which was nearby the happy couple -- to talk to one of the bartenders who had also been witnessing the whole ordeal. Before I could get a word in edgewise, she blurted, "What's with the ugly love out there?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I just came back here to just say 'eww'."

"It's gross," the bartender said. "At one point I opened the door and he had his hands between her legs and he was rubbing her."

"Oh lord, that's so wrong," quipped a nearby waiter.

Indeed it was so wrong. They eventually left the lower level to continue their Winter Dance makeout session upstairs in front of God, the bartenders, and the rest of creation. That was after they stood in front of the elevator door grinding each other for a few minutes.

Later in the evening I crossed paths with a middle-aged woman who claimed to be an eye doctor. Her hair was long, curly, and bleached blonde. She had a nose that I would describe as Roman. Plus, her tits were fake. She wanted the whole world to know that she was proud of them as well because she wore a low cut shirt that exposed her abnormal cleavage.

I'm of the belief that there should not be a canyon between each breast. However, I digress...

At one point she was washing her hands with two of her middle-aged male cohorts. One decided -- mid-handwash mind you -- to press his face into her boobs and start kissing them. Instead of slapping him or kneeing him in his crotch (as she should have for such behavior) she just laughed it off. She then admitted that she liked it because he was cute.

For the record he was not cute. He was a bit sleazy and greasy but with money. That's not to say that this woman had high standards. Nor does it say that she wasn't a bit insecure about herself. If the fake boobs didn't expose her insecurity the conversation she had with a man earlier in the evening did. He said she looked like Sarah Jessica Parker. She was extremely flattered by that.

Call be crazy, but if I was told that I looked like Dee Snider in drag I would not be too flattered by that.

The conversation between Dee and her male friends exposed their shallowness. To make it easy on you the woman will continue being called "Dee" and the boob guy will be called "Boob Guy." His friend will be called "Other Guy" because "Middle-Aged Divorcee Uncomfortable in His Own Skin" is too long.

Dee: "I had three sips of wine. I had to stop."

Boob Guy: "Did you get drunk?"

Dee: "No, I was feeling it a little bit. I've never been drunk."

Boob Guy: "Never?"

Dee: "No, never!"

Boob Guy: "I've been drunk 3,676 times!"

Other Guy: (laughing) "I can attest to that. As someone who has soberly beared witness to that many times, I can attest to that."

*sigh*

A little later on Dee and her friend were conversing in the restroom. Dee's friend was middle aged as well. It also struck me that she was wearing control top pantyhose under her slacks. Despite the fact that these woman were in their forties they spoke to each other as if they were still in high school. They talked about how cute some guy was and how Dee was going to set up Control Top with one of her friends who was "very interested in meeting her."

I suppose it just went along with the theme of Saturday night which will be forever remembered as Winter Dance 2006: Ugly Love.

On Good Turn Deserves Another

Short Guy with Lisp: "I'm rich, but this bathroom is better than mine!"

What is the correct response to that one? I would probably prefer, "Thank you for telling me that, sir. Now, I am going to fart on your head."

Maya Deren is Spinning in Her Grave

Drunk Guy: "This place is so avant garde!"

Y.E.L.R.A.: "Oh, really?"

Sad to say that this is not the first time someone has described the restroom as an artistic movement that pushes the boundaries of what is considered the norm. In retrospect, these people are technically correct, but I doubt that it applies to a place to pee. Unless you're talking about works done by Marcel Duchamp. Alas, it's already been done. Therefore I conclude that the restroom is far from avant garde.

By the way, the obscure reference in the title of today's post is dedicated to DDETHOMAS and his Painted Ground blog. The one that was linked on SFist yesterday.

Lucky.