And after Liz has cheered you up, pour another drink and head over to Amy at The Never-True Tales, where I'm sharing something a bit darker today. Or don't. I won't hold it against you.
Maybe just stay in the Miami sun, drinking wine with Liz...that's where I certainly want to be! She's a firecracker!
****
Further evidence that mommyhood sucks the COOL right out of you...
A few months ago, Hubby and I had babysitting. Babysitting always means cocktails. A lot of them. So 5 1/2 hours and 3 wine bottles later (What? We were on the beach. It was hot. We were thirsty. Really thirsty.), we ended up on South Beach. We head over to THE pizza place...this place is synonymous with South Beach, clubbing, and the IT scene. Now you have to understand, this is not a chic place, really...more like a greasy, noisy, crowded hole in the wall with a gazillion delicious pizzas you order from behind a glass case and then stand around and try not to tip over in your drunken exhaustion as you thank the heavens that this place exists and wonder how in the world a place this greasy can mass produce pizza this good.
So we're standing in line and I am not even caring that we are finishing our night up at 8:30 while the South Beach-ites around us are just starting to ponder which uber-chic club they will go to before ending up right back at the same pizza spot. I am feeling pretty happy...the kind of happy you can only get with a bottle (or three) of wine, a day on the beach, and uninterrupted time with Hubby. This is when I get the uncontrollable urge to pee.
I saunter on down the long dark passageway of patrons and pizzas towards the bathroom. I yank on the handle, but nothing happens. I read the blurry sign on the door. Yep. Ladies Restroom. I pull again. Nothing. Within my drunken near-stupor, I notice an intimidating-looking brass contraption at the top of the door. I cannot for the life of me figure out what in the world that is or how it functions, but I know, with every passing second that I must get into that bathroom. Turning over to the end of the pizza counter, I spot an employee...picture: toothless trucker/homeless guy who happens to run a ridiculously lucrative pizza joint in South Beach. Yeah. I can't figure it out either. But there he was, raspy voiced and greasier than the linoleum.
"Hi!" I bubble over to him. "How do I get into the bathroom?"
Without even looking over at me, he grumbles, "Ya' gotta put a coin in."
I blink.
"A coin? What do you mean? Do you have a key or something?"
Unable to be bothered by the likes of perky, confused, sloshed li'l old me, he shoves a gold circle into my hand. "Here," he grunts.
"What's this?"
"A token." Still grumbling. Still not looking at me.
"A token?"
"Yeah, a token."
I look down into my palm. I blink rapidly. Confused. I stand there, frozen, my alcohol-saturated brain trying to make some sense. Then, suddenly, it dawns on me. My face lights up.
"Ooooooh!" I squeal, smiling. "You mean like at Chuck E. Cheese?!?"
Raspy-greasy-can't-be-bothered-pizza-guy finally looks at me. Now it's his turn to blink rapidly and look confused. After a long pause, he responds: "Sorta."
I skip merrily to the bathroom, token in hand.
****
Now didn't that put a smile on your face? Thanks, Liz, for being my neighbor today. You can drink wine at my house any time!
Seriously hate bathrooms that require tokens. But love skee ball. Maybe I'm willing to handle/request/buy fake money for play, but not for pee. Now, if you got a string of tickets equivalent to the pee volume and could trade for prizes, why then I'd be all over the bathroom tokens.
ReplyDeleteIt made sense to me!!
ReplyDeleteThat story is amazing on so many levels.
Nu-uh man. I'm hip. I'm cool. (Doing the Dr. Evil version of the Macarena as I type).
ReplyDeleteReally? Tokens to pee? Too Funny.
ReplyDeleteHilarious- I don't think I've ever been anywhere 'chic' enough to require a token to pee!
ReplyDeleteI am 100% sure that was the first time he had ever been asked that question. LOL
ReplyDeleteAw, love this. Even on a cool night out, your parenting shows itself. My ex and I once rode for over 5 minutes on a date night before we realized the music we were listening to was a Gymboree tape.
ReplyDeleteWait a minute...are you from Oklahoma?
ReplyDeleteBathrooms with tokens...I haven't encountered that since having to pee at a street bathroom in Paris. And that was eons ago. Now I really want pizza, and it's 7 am...
ReplyDeleteThanks for playing along with Won't You Be My Neighbor!
I would have been so confused without the 3 bottles of wine!!
ReplyDeleteYou are totally correct. If I heard token I would have gone to the Chuck E. Cheese place in my mind also!
ReplyDeleteSigh...
ReplyDeleteThank goodness for wine!
Help me! What is your Twitter @ ??? I lost you.
Ahh, TKW and Liz. Two of my favorite ladies hanging out on a Friday afternoon. Can I come over and crash the party? (I'll bring the wine and the tokens!)
ReplyDeleteThat's SoBe all right. Tokens in a pizza joint.
ReplyDeleteRe: your writing. Keep your hand in and when your little doll starts school, you will have time to rethink your goals. That is unless you: 1)have another kid 2)start volunteering at school 3) get a job 4)find something you like better
This is your decision, not your friend's, not your husband's. How could you write anyway with all that pressure?
I think I am too damn literal.
I've been to that pizza place!! I love their pizza, especially at improbable times of the very early morning or very late night, whichever you want to call it!
ReplyDeleteLiz, great, great description of the owner. We all have seen this guy, right? Even if we haven't been there.
ReplyDeleteToo funny! I didn't know there were bathrooms that required tokens, though I've gotten used to paying in order to pee here in Guatemala . . . all Latin American countries seem to require it. Heaven forbid you should find yourself broke with a full bladder on the streets of Antigua!
ReplyDeleteNow see if you were a dude, you could pee and play skee ball with the same token!
ReplyDeletejc
That is too cute! I've never heard of token for the potty either, it must be a cool South Beach thing! :0)
ReplyDeleteHilarious. What do you say we all drop everything and go out and enjoy a bottle (or three) of wine and then go home by 8:30 and go to bed because we are that cool? :)
ReplyDeleteI must be old. Bathrooms in the US use to be paid things. You would get in the restroom and there would be a coin machine on the door to the stalls. I remember a quarter being slipped in to get into the stall. We would take turns and then let the next person in without putting in a coin. On occasion, as a younger child, I can remember crawling - eewwww! - under the door to circumvent the quarter needed.
ReplyDelete