Umbrellas And The Ladies Room

At least three times a week I pass by a rack of umbrellas for sale. At least once a week the thought crosses through my mind that ‘I need to buy an umbrella,’ just in case I ever get caught in the rain. But, I always shrug the idea off. I never get caught in the rain. (Knock on wood.)

Last night I drove around the one way streets of Uptown looking for Azia, a restaurant that I’ve never been to. I know Hennepin Avenue and the Lake Calhoun area fairly well, but Nicollet and Lyndale are not my fortes.

I was supposed to be meeting my friend Maximilian for drinks. (Mapquest had failed me again.)
It was drizzling outside. I barely needed my windshield wipers. When I arrived at the intersection where Azia is located, I let out a sigh of relief. (I wasn’t even that late!) The bar was right where Maximilian said it would be. And, how lucky can I get? There was a parking spot on the street only one block away!

Then the inevitable happened. There was a flash and with almost no delay... "BOOM!”

In one fantastic smack, the floodgates of heaven opened and the judgment of God poured down onto the streets of Uptown. (Okay, so it was just a really bad thunderstorm.) I could barely park my car. I couldn’t see more than 10 feet in front or behind me. Sheets of rain came down. (Has anyone ever seen a single sheet of rain?)

I sat in my car and thought about the rack filled with umbrellas. (This stinks!) I waited about five minutes for the rain to let up. It didn’t. So I resolved to make a dash for it. How bad could it be? (I was about to find out…)

For safe measure I rolled my jeans up like Capri pants. (It wouldn’t make a difference, the streets were ankle deep.) By the time I made it inside, my hair and face were dripping wet. My mascara was working its way down one of my cheeks. My jeans were sticking to my skin and my favorite pink leather foe-crocodile heels had water pooling in the toes.

It took some alcohol and a large bowl of wanton soup to warm me up. Max and I had a great time chatting. We discussed the elements of dating from my blog (see ‘Definition of Dating’ from last week) and we determined that our meeting did not meet the required elements of a date. Max psychoanalyzed the blog and my alter ego, ‘Jane.’ It’s extremely interesting to hear another person’s take on it!

I excused myself to use the ladies room and headed to the back of the restaurant. I walked through a doorway and the restaurant opened up into a large room in the back with additional seating, a lounge area and a bar. I wandered around for about thirty seconds looking for the bathroom. It was deserted besides a bartender, a man at the bar (talking to the bartender) and a man dressed in a dirty T-shirt walking in my direction and spilling the drink he held in his hand.

Me, being the friendly gal that I am, asked the man in the dirty T-shirt, “Excuse me, do you know where the ladies room is?”

His eyes were bloodshot and his speech was slightly slurred, (“mumble… mumble… mumble”) I’m wasn’t sure what he said, but then he nodded in the opposite direction. Then I think he said, “Over here…”

So, I followed him. He led me directly to an open area with sinks. It was one of those modern / trendy bathrooms where the men and women have separate facilities, but share the same washroom.

The washroom had better lighting than the bar area and I could now clearly see that this man was severely intoxicated. I asked him, “Which one is the ladies room?” (There were two doors but no signs… I hate that!)

Despite his condition, the drunk man walked to the door on the right and opened it for me. (How polite!) He pushed and held it open while I walked in. (At this point, he was standing in the bathroom with me. There weren’t any women inside thank goodness.) I turned and looked at him, I couldn’t help but smile.

“Thanks so much for your help. I think I can take it from here.” He looked at me like he had no idea what I had just said. So I addressed him again, “Is it okay if I go to the bathroom by myself?”

He nodded yes, mumbled something else and walked all the way into women’s bathroom. I didn’t stick around to see which stall he went in to. I just walked out laughing.

I laughed all the way up to the bartender. “I’m sorry, the bathroom on the right is the ladies room right?”

The bartender turned around, “Yeah, the door to the right of the sinks.”

“Um yeah, there’s a drunk guy going to the bathroom in there.”

The bartender rolled his eyes. “I just kicked him out of here.”

He walked over to the facilities and popped his head in the door. “Are you almost finished? Did you know that you’re in the women’s bathroom?” (I don’t know why he asked, it was clear he didn’t have a clue.)

I stood there while the bartender tried unsuccessfully to coax him out. I was getting a little impatient, “Hey listen, I really have to pee. Can you please watch the door to the men’s room, I’m just going to use their bathroom.”

The bartender seemed a little freaked out that I suggested it. But another woman had arrived on the scene and I talked her into it. He didn’t have a say in the matter. She watched the door for me. (What a doll.)

After I had finished my business, I washed my hands and looked into the mirror. My hair was lumpy and damp and my runny mascara had given me raccoon eyes.

My thoughts went back to the rain and then to the umbrella rack… I really need to buy an umbrella!