Queue for the Loo

You know (restaurant name withdrawn) is really a pretty classy joint, lots of polished dark wood, waitresses who look like they live in houses instead of trailer parks, and a menu that includes things like Risotto del Giorno and Lumacha e Basilica, which would be rice and snails respectively for those of you who do not have the translation right there on the menu. It’s our favorite place of all we’ve tried since we started dating again. They have really good bands on Friday and Saturday, and dancing under the stars on warm summer evenings---well, the street lights anyway, but a lovely place none the less. The thing we like best though is the cliental, a combination of young and not so young, mostly affluent, but some just stretching their entertainment dollar with the relatively cheap draft beer. No matter where people find themselves on the social scale, when you come through the door at (unnamed restaurant) you are all at the same party. There are enough regulars to act as host and hostesses, and you can’t be a stranger for more than ten minutes, even if you just stumbled in by accident while looking for directions to the interstate. Like any party, either at your own home or your favorite local pub, when alcohol is involved there are certain risks, mostly centered around love and war, and sometimes those two are indistinguishable. Last night we were entertained by a bit of both. I know for a fact that it’s not the first time the well appointed toilets in the establishment have been used for a hasty and ill conceived dalliance, but it was the first actual fist fight I have ever seen in the bar. I don’t actually think one was related to the other, unless I missed something that happened earlier. A tangle of men was out on the patio circling the fisticuffs when the first police car pulled into the parking lot and I decided it would be a good time to head inside to the bathroom. There is a very narrow hallway with the men’s facilities on one side and the woman’s on the other. Three gentlemen were waiting in line and both doors were locked, and there were some very loud noises coming from the men’s room. The guys seemed to think they had to explain to me what was going on, but I let them know right away that I was pretty familiar with what sex sounds like, and in fact has been kept waiting outside the ladies room just a few weeks back while another couple had a quickie on the sofa. I really blame the management for the problem. I mean, they should have known better than to put a couch in the ladies room and a lock on the door. I guess the woman’s room was occupied when the couple got there, and impulse control not being their strong suit, they took the standing room only option of door number two. This morning I asked my husband if there was a condom machine in the men’s room. He seemed a bit taken aback by my question and said no. I told him I thought it might be a good idea to make a suggestion to the management.