Category: Bathroom Breaks

This story is about a peacock, but not a real peacock, a metaphorical peacock

I almost got stuck in the bathroom today. I had been wandering around all day waiting for something embarrassing to happen to me as it usually does. And then it hit me.

I locked myself into a one person bathroom in a “coffeeshop” in Amsterdam so thankfully everyone was too high to notice a panicked woman stumble out of the bathroom after MINUTES of clicking the lock back and forth unsuccessfully.

What I really wanted to talk to you about is drug dealers. (This is called a segue.)

Tonight when my brother, Nick and I were walking home after a night at an Amsterdam local food festival we had the joy of approaching a group of men. Don’t you love that feeling that crawls all over you when you see a group of territorial-looking guys who are too old to be hanging out outside fast food restaurants but too young for old men bars?

Anyway, we eased through them and one (the peacock) spoke to us in English, “Welcome to Amsterdam”. I didn’t realize we had ‘tourist’ written on our foreheads but apparently it was evident we weren’t from around there.

Of course, Nick and I used our ‘ignore everything’ technique but I soon realized my brother was no longer with us. I looked back to see him and the peacock essentially circling each other, similar to boxing or Pokémon battles.

My first thought, “How will we carry the body of a 19-year-old, 6’7” man back to our place when this guy knocks him out?”.

Just kidding my first thought was, “rape”. I calculated every possible way it could end at that point. There were 6 grown men vs us. Does anyone else immediately go there?

I feel like as a woman we immediate calculate the chance of rape in any given scenario. Maybe that’s just me. I tend to selfishly think about my well-being.

Once we pulled my brother away he wouldn’t explain what the guy wanted. As we pushed into the Airbnb, the peacock drove around the corner in a neon green Vespa. It was the most European moment I’ve experienced so far in Europe.

This man followed us in his tiny green Vespa. That means if his friends all had multicolored Vespas he’d be in a biker’s gang. But with neon Vespas.

It was intimidating as hell.

We locked the door behind us but my brother refused to follow us into the apartment. He wanted to go out to this guy.

Nick and I went upstairs to look out the window and waited for my brother to join us. After what felt like forever he came back.

“What did that guy want?” I yelled.

“Oh, he just wanted to know if I wanted to buy drugs,” he said.

Was I in the “what not do” part of a DARE video?

Kids, when a drug dealer approaches you don’t interact with them, especially if they drive a green Vespa. If they were any good at being a drug dealer, they’d be driving something better than a green Vespa.

I waited be the window and prayed I wasn’t going to be part of Taken 4. Partially because I think Liam Neeson is slightly overrated.

The peacock hasn’t shown his face or his green Vespa since. So naturally I’ll just lay in a puddle of anxiety all night.

Oh the good all days when the most exciting part of my day was almost getting stuck in a toilet.

Bathroom Breaks: Don’t Drink the Complimentary Mouthwash

You’re probably thinking, the title of this lead me to believe I was going to be given proper life advice involving minty fresh breath. Or you’re thinking, “I thought I clicked on porn but why are there so many words.” Well, if the latter, I am terribly sorry for the disappointment. When you click on Girls Aren’t Funny it can only go one of two ways.

Anyway back to my Listerine anecdote, I was on a date. One of those good ones where you’re wearing comfy shoes and the kitchen accidentally makes an extra dessert and suddenly there’s twice as much cheesecake on the table.

By the time the check came my bladder had decided six glasses of sweetened ice tea is too much for it to handle, and my pancreas has decided I may have given myself diabetes, and Nick has realized he’s paying for dinner. So I leave.

I glide over to the powdered room in my dainty, feminine, on-a-date like way and realize I have the bathroom all to myself. Now this is a nice restaurant so of course there are couches outside of the stalls because we all know the best place to wait for a table in fancy restaurants is the bathroom (pro tip).

I pick my stall and relieve myself, and when I say relieve I am so relieved that I let out a low guttural sound to express my relief. I had a whole ice tea pitcher waiting to come out.

I open the door to find one of the employees quietly cleaning the sinks. In my attempt to avoid tension I struck up a conversation to show her that I was not ashamed of the noises I made while expressing gratitude for not peeing my pants (Well, I was wearing a dress, does that change things? What was the phrase ladies used when they couldn’t socially wear pants? I guess ladies didn’t talk of such things. This is why I should have gone to cotillion. At least I would’ve learned what fork to use).

I noticed small glass bottles filled with blue liquid.

“I just love when restaurants supply mouthwash. So thoughtful! I mean not all dates like the taste of those caramelized onions after you’re done with them, if you know what I mean?”

She just smiled and continued wiping.

“Well personally I think it’s a great idea. It looks like you’re out of little cups though. I guess I’ll have to do the hand scoop method.”

Again she smiled and cleaned.

“Oh, thicker than I thought.”

Then I proceeded to lick this blue liquid in my hand.

It was soap.

You probably already gathered this.

Good for you.

Do you want a medal?

I want mouthwash.

I left the bathroom and moved to sit down across from Nick.

“You don’t want to know the disgusting thing I just did in that bathroom.”

A confused and slightly intrigued older man stared back at me.

I calmly exited the situation and found Nick at the table next to him.

“We should go.”

Bathroom Breaks: Friendly French woman corners me in line

I like to do this cute thing on a date where when the check is about to arrive I go to the bathroom so he can pay for me. It’s adorable.

I’m totally kidding Nick and I are going even stevens on this trip and I Venmo him half of everything. Sit down and put your pitchforks away. Though I do admire the feminist energy we have going. Let’s burn things! Ahh!

OK, starting over.

While Nick was taking care of the bill I went to find the bathroom because public restrooms in Europe are like good magicians, rare and usually there’s a fee (another great simile).

A man with a stomach ache rushed past me and slammed the one bathroom door behind him. How do I know he had a stomach ache? The length of time he spent in there that led me to a shameful moment just outside that very door.

An older woman stood in line with me and we made eye contact briefly. First mistake. She said something in French with a big smile on her face and I nodded and smiled back. Usually in situations where I mishear people I tend to play a mirror and basically replicate their body language.

It usually works. Usually.

She then went on to tell a joke. I could tell it was a joke because of her cadence and when she delivered the punchline she looked at me expectantly. I overdid it. I laughed at her joke. I belly laughed. I went over the top and she joined in. We were both laughing away like a couple of old friends and I had no freaking idea what she said.

At this point, I was in too deep. I knocked again on the bathroom door but did this man hurry? No, he did not. She asked me a question. I didn’t realize how obvious it was when someone asks a question, the last word lingered and her head leaned in for a response. I said “Oh wee, wee”.

That seemed to make her happy. I thought, oh god what have I agreed to? I strained to make eye contact with Nick across the restaurant. I mouthed “HELP ME!” to no avail.

I heard a flush on the other side and waited with my hand on the handle. He pushed through and I pulled the door behind me to safety.

Moral of the story: Don’t talk to strangers, especially sweet, French, old ladies who have a great sense of humor. Possibly.

Bathroom Breaks: A tale of an airport security guard and a girl

You may not know this about me because if you did that would be weird due to its deeply personal nature, but I always have odd things happen in the bathroom. Wait, that sounded bad. Not like bowel movement related, ok maybe sometimes… The point is sometimes I can’t seem to go to the bathroom like a normal person. Example number one: my right thumb was throbbing as I wrote this because of a bathroom-related incident.

My boyfriend, Nick, and I were deep in the middle of our travels across Europe and we were at Barcelona’s airport heading to Nice, France. We were in a small terminal during Easter weekend, so things were quiet. Too quiet.

When we went through security we were the only ones in line. As I was waved through the metal detector a ding went off and before I walked away the security guard told me I had been selected for a random security check. He pointed towards a mat with two painted feet on it, so I planted mine on top and put my arms out to the side like a mini plane (what a synonym).

When he didn’t approach to pat me down I said over my shoulder, “Why aren’t you touching me?” I regretted the word choice immediately. He grunted and tried to push my arms down put I popped them back up like the brother in a Christmas Story when he was in his snowsuit (just go watch it). While traveling for months out of a carry-on I tended to wear many layers (mystery is sexy).

I looked back and found Nick chugging the rest of the water from the water bottle we always forget to empty before security (liquid bad) as another security guard egged him on (dance, monkey, dance). Eventually, the guard sent me to one of his coworkers to swipe my right pocket and sandwich for bomb residue (naturally) and I left on my merry way.

Once Nick had successfully downed almost a liter of water we found the bathroom soon after. As I was moving down the stairs pretending to be “going downstairs” in a fake-funny way (comedy gold) my sneakers that lost traction years ago made me slip on the squeaky-clean tiles (go janitorial team) and I basically jammed my thumb into the railing (real sexy like though).

I looked around to see who other than Nick shared in this moment of shame and there he was, the security guard, at the bottom of the stairs. He actually shook his head. People do that! People unironically shake their head at you! Oh, and he did it more than once. The bastard.

In my attempt to escape his judgment I turned into the bathroom closest to me. You guessed it: it was the men’s bathroom. Typical. Practically a cliché. Except do most clichés end with a security guard having to escort you out of the bathroom because he had to go get you? He shook his head again of course.

With the language barrier, I think I saluted him (as you do) and walked towards the women’s bathroom to figure out how to break off toilet roll with a jammed thumb.