I can’t speak for the rest of the world here (well, I can, but it stands a high chance of being discovered to be false) but America has a much smarter approach to making you do your taxes than the UK does. In the UK you slave away all year, fill in your tax return, send it off and in a couple of months you either gain or lose a few quid. While you’re filling in the forms, you think about how the government are taking all this money that you worked so hard to make and spending it on gay marriage and old people. In America, you almost always get money back. This means that, whilst they don’t like form-filling any more than anyone else, Americans aren’t thinking the same stuff while they are sitting there writing down their social security numbers. They are actually thinking of the ride-on lawnmower, or the new flat-screen television, or the Sheryl Crow special edition real doll that they’re going to buy when the refund comes in. These are not necessarily the things that I personally thought about. I don’t have a lawn. I am also against neither gay marriage nor old people, just to nip that one in the bud.
Naturally I decided that that should indeed be my own personal policy going forward. The world had spoken.
Imagine my confusion, therefore, when I walked into the restroom in Martin’s Off Madison on Sunday evening and encountered this feast of abomination.
Restroom of the angst-ridden
If what we agreed about locking the door is true, why would there be a curtain? Is it in case the person on the toilet is offended by the very sight of a nearby urinal? No, my friends, it is because dual occupancy is the very ethos of this restroom.
Frankly, I didn’t know what to do. There was another chap heading towards the restroom at the same time as I went, and now he was standing outside the door. I’d already locked the door before I noticed this. I broke out in a cold sweat. I could just imagine him standing outside the door cursing. Was I such a little princess that I needed the whole restroom to myself? I turned around. He’d hear it if I unlocked the door now. And what if – well, I mean, what if he thought that – because, well, it’s possible that Martin’s Off Madison is a gay bar. It has a lot of men in tight T-shirts and an old lady playing the piano. Not that gay bars are bad, of course. Although I am not gay. But if I were gay, that wouldn’t be bad. At least, it wouldn’t if I wasn’t already married. To a woman, obviously. Sorry, I mean not obviously. Gay people can get married too. Some of my friends are gay. Well, one of them. Maybe one other one.
Anyway, look, whether you are gay or not, any sort of “I’m ready” signal in the restroom of a gay bar is bad if you’re not willing to go through with it, which wasn’t something I was mentally prepared for. Gay people don’t like being dicked around any more than anyone else. I mean messed. Messed around.
I looked at the toilet, and back at the urinal. Maybe he would be less upset if he thought I’d been having a number two. I waited for a couple of minutes, then flushed the toilet. I noticed that the seat was up, so I put it down. I tried for a few seconds to break wind, without success. I sighed, washed my hands, took a deep breath and opened the door.
The man was still there. He looked me right in the eye and gave me an ambiguous smile. I held the door open and he went in. He did not lock the door.
I realised at that point that I had forgotten to pee. The bar wasn’t busy, and the restroom was in full view of the main seating area – how could I now get back into the restroom without that being a sign?
I turned around and walked back to the table where my wife sat.
“We need to go home now,” I said, simply, “I’ve been let down by the internet”.
Americans have something of a tradition about the place they choose to work. Regardless of their particular position in the company, they generally choose to work in places where they like the end product. Financiers in the software industry are gadget-junkies; delivery drivers in the pet food business have a house full of dogs. Hey, why work towards the creation of something you don’t care about?
In Britain, being excited about anything to do with work is gay. If you are interested in not looking gay, you should actively avoid any job which runs a risk of interesting you. If you’re bulemic and allergic to nuts, why not get a job in the food industry? You hate men? Get a job in a strip bar! If Stevie Wonder was British, he’d be a parachute stuntman.
Personally I rather enjoy being permanently curmudgeonly about work. However, this approach does leave the United Kingdom with a service industry which is almost entirely useless. Let me leave you with a typical conversation between a member of the public and an in-store customer service representative.
Salesman: Can I help you, sir? Customer: Well, yes, actually, you can. About this hifi system – Salesman: Ah yes, the C9000. Beautiful system, sir. Sound quality is truly astounding. Blows your mind, the sound quality on this – Customer: I was wondering if it has a radio. I’m guessing it does, but I can’t see any buttons for it. Salesman: Oh yes, sir. State of the art, the C9000. Customer: So it has a radio? Salesman: We can also do you a two year warranty on this one – if anything goes wrong, you can just bring it back here, no questions asked, and – well, you know the rest. Not that anything goes wrong with these things. I don’t think we’ve had a single one back this year.
[Salesman gives the stereo system an affectionate but firm pat on the top] Customer: So it definitely has a radio? Salesman: It’s got everything, this puppy. Sound quality is astounding. Customer: Can you turn on the radio for me? Salesman: Blows your mi – hmm. The radio? Customer: Yes, can you turn on the radio? So I can hear the sound quality? Salesman: Well yes, of course. Let me find the remote. Customer: I don’t think it has a remote, actually. Salesman: Of course, yes, I’m thinking of the C8000. Customer: Actually, I don’t believe that one – Salesman: All of the functions are available from behind this beautiful stainless steel sliding panel. See how smoothly that slides back? That’s quality right there.
[pause. Salesman gazes with reverence at stereo system] Customer: The radio. Salesman: Yes, amazing radio. Astounding sound quality. Customer: The radio switches on from this panel? Salesman: Look, I’ll let you in on something. It’s getting near the end of the month and my boss is really putting pressure on us to get the numbers up, so I think we can come to some sort of deal. Customer: I’m unlikely to be interested unless it has a radio. Salesman: Well sir, here we pride ourselves on our sixteen-day money-back risk-free guarantee. Do you know what that means, sir? It means that you can take it home, use it for two weeks, and if it turns out it doesn’t have a radio, you can put it back in its original packaging and bring it back here with no questions asked. Is that a deal, or is that a deal?
