Bathroom Nonsense Continues Whether or Not I get my Coffee.

Hello all!

As some of you may know I've been shut away from the public eye for the last several days due to my semi-annual case of death cough/bronchitis.  I started the cough at a craft fair on the 9th (a few short days after my return from Vegas. My guess is my lungs don't like sudden changes in weather.) and have been wracked by a horrible cough, muscle aches, weakness, and congestion ever since. But mostly it's the cough. The cough is what kept me out of work for the better part of 3 days last week.

Anyway, I'm telling you that to set up what I'm going to tell you now:  On Friday the 15th, having not left the house in nearly a week, Hubby invited me to go out for a late lunch when I was done with my work day.  Not wanting to offend a fancier crowd, we chose "Fuzzy's" on Main Street in Waukesha.  Fuzzy's may not look like much on the outside (or on the inside...it's not a pretty place) but the food they crank out there is really fantastic.  Their breakfasts are hard to beat, and I really like their burgers.

Again, getting off track here.

Fuzzy's is split into two spaces.  The bar is a place where locals pretty much park it at all times of the day.  The other room is tables and chairs for patrons who want to eat food and maybe not spend their day staring at the people across the u-shaped bar.  Again, we go there because the food is fantastic.

Last Friday we got there just before 2:30 and the parking lot was surprisingly full.  I always forget that in Wisconsin Fish Fry Fridays aren't just a supper thing.  They are an all day thing. We love our fish fry...all day Friday.  Walking in, it was clear, the lunch rush had been something spectacular.  A handful of regulars sat at the bar and the empty tables were still cluttered from previous diners.  The whole place had the aura of the salty, sandy bits left behind by a tidal wave.

Hubby and I found a table that wasn't sticky and sat down.  I've been really groggy lately, given my late nights coughing, so I thought a cup of coffee with my fish fry would get me through lunch and grocery shopping. These two outings, my first in a week, would be all I had the strength to do and I needed a little boost.

The waitress, the only one covering the tables (the other one covered the bar) looked harried and tired, but still cheerful. She wiped off our table, apologized for mess, mentioned that lunch had been huge and then she took our drink order.  Hubby ordered a beer. I ordered a glass of ice water and a coffee.

The ice water and beer showed up within minutes and we placed our order for food, reminding her about my coffee order. She apologized. Then she went to the next table, took their drink order and food order and went back to the bar.  A few moments later, she brought out their drink order.

Still no coffee for me.  I sort of felt like I was trapped in that episode of "Fawlty Towers" where the guy has to place his drink order with Basil several times.

Several minutes later, our food came out, as did the other table's.  The waitress set our order in front of the other diners.  We thought it amazing that they'd ordered the exact same thing we did, they thought it annoying that one got a burger instead of the French dip she wanted.  Correction was made, many apologies from the waitress.

 Hubby reminded the waitress about my coffee, and she apologized profusely.  Then she walked past the coffee machine (which was about two feet from our table, at one point I suggested we just make me a cup of coffee since both of us knows how to run a Bunn machine and both of us knows how to make coffee to restaurant standards.) to wipe off a few tables.

That's when her son walked in with her sister. School was out for the day and sis dropped the kid off at mom's work so he could play his video game while she finished the last hour of her shift.

The video game didn't work. The boy, probably ten, spent the next ten minutes squawking, "It's not working MOM!"

I sort of wanted to say the same about my coffee order.

Now here's where it gets good, and we get to the point of it all.  The waitress finally managed to pour me a cup of coffee and while I was sipping it, enjoying the rejuvenating effects of that beautiful, black, brew, a sort of floor show broke out in another part of the restaurant.

This is not a big place. This is a very small place full of local flavor. That means the bathrooms are not, exactly, Sarah approved. The ladies' room is typical of a small powder room in some one's home.  The men's, I guess, is the same, but with a urinal...so I'm told.  Now, hubby has explained men's room etiquette to me, but honestly, he forgot one rule, the one where you don't lock the door if you're just peeing and there's a stall and a urinal available.  Go ahead and ponder that for a moment. I'm still trying to figure out how they managed to fit a stall and a urinal in the same construction foot print as the ladies' room.


I guess they're different.

Anyway, while we were eating, and I was finally gaining some mental clarity with my coffee, the haggard, frazzled, child-tormented waitress emerged from the ladies' room, announcing, "the toilet's backed up!"

Now, frequent readers of this blog know that I would never, ever, share that information out loud.  I would either 1) fix the problem myself and then leave, never to return to that bathroom ever again or 2) find the owner of the bathroom and murmur in the lowest of tones that I did NOT plug the toilet, but that the toilet now was experiencing issues.

But that's just me.

This lady was at the end of a long day, her kid was yelling about his video game, most of the tables still weren't cleared off and the dinner rush was about to start.  All she wanted was to use the restroom in peace.

Instead...she got an overflow.

Now, I'm not sure if she was finished with her bathroom business or if she just wanted to wash her hands, but her next move was to go into the men's room.  I mean, in this day and age, why not?  There's a lock on the door for a reason, and honestly, in these small places, everyone should be able to use whatever room is open.

Unfortunately for her, the day got worse.

She opened the door and the next thing we all heard was, "Oh SH**!  OH F***!  I just saw Doug peeing!"

Well then.  Dinner and a show. I would have paid extra for that!

Turns out, Doug is an older fella, a regular, who emerged from the restroom three seconds later to reclaim his seat at the bar.

"Did you even wash your hands?" The waitress demanded to know.

"No."  Says Doug.

"Ew!  Gross!" Yells both waitresses.

"Hey, I learned a long time ago not to pee on my hands."

That's his defense.  "I don't pee on my hands."

"You didn't lock the door, Doug!"  the harried waitress yells.

"Why were you walking in there anyway?"

"Because the ladies' room overflowed."

It's at this point Hubby shares the rule of the lock with me.  Now, three days later, I'm still trying to figure out how all that equipment fits in that small a room with enough privacy at either the throne or the urinal to allow someone to NOT lock the door, but whatever. Guys are gross, I guess.

There's much chatter among the table diners about this, but nothing compared to the debate at the bar. Doug defends his position both for not locking the door and for not washing his hands. Some of the bar guys support him.  The waitresses, and those of us at tables who can hear him , do not.  At any rate, the discussion about hand washing and door locking continues for the rest of our time at Fuzzy's.
Whether or not the kid's video game got fixed, I don't know.

Whether or not the ladies' room got unplugged, I don't know.

This I do know:  I'll go back to Fuzzy's because it's one of the best breakfast places in town and their burgers are awesome as is their fish fry.  And hey, if they can promise more improv shows like this...I guess I can forgive a little delay in getting my coffee.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas...if you can actually GET to Vegas.

Hello and Happy Friday!

Sorry I've been away lately, but I've actually been away!  For Christmas this year, Hubby gave me a trip to Sin City! That's right...Sarah went to Las Vegas without another adult and met up with some college friends for a weekend of catching up...and fabulous Vegas fun!

But first Sarah had to get on an airplane and fly to Vegas.

I don't fly very often. Not because I have a fear of flying, because I don't, but more because flying these days is so completely annoying and uncomfortable and EXPENSIVE it's almost easy and more fun to drive.  (Especially since Hubby does about 99% of the driving and I sleep in the car.)

People talk about how we have to make flight safe from terrorism and all that, but I think the real reason flying is such a complete pain in the rump is because of BIG RETAIL.  The Big Retail lobby has somehow convinced those in power that air travel needs to be really, really terrible.  Don't believe me?  Let me lay out my argument and see if you agree:

The first problem with flight travel is the airport.  You are supposed to get there something like 2 hours before your flight.  2 hours?  Check in, for many flights, is already done by phone.  And if you're checking your bag, that's done by self service.  Then you take the bag up to the person at the counter, she weighs it, and you're done.  So that's like six minutes of your life, and now you have almost two solid hours to kill in the airport.

What, oh what can you do?

Well, you can shop!  There are a crap ton of stores in airports now...even in a little one like ours here in Milwaukee.  Books, movies, magazines, stereo equipment, luggage, clothing, whatever you want, you can buy at the airport.  Plus the time to shop is already built in to your travel time because you have to get to the airport so early.

BIG RETAIL!

Then there's security.  Yes, this takes time.  The longest I've had to wait in line for security is about half an hour.  I'm not saying the security check at airports is ridiculous.  I am saying that if you're between the ages of 12 and 75 it is.  See, if you're 12 and under or 75 an older, you don't need to remove your shoes or jacket.  That's right.  Apparently, we've decided that children and old people are just never going to be terrorists and therefore get to remain fully clothed while going through the line. The rest of us have to strip down to our socks and metal free clothing (including the removal of belts), have our carry on luggage scanned and rifled through, and if we're really lucky, we get a full body scan (so our whole body is on display for TSA agents' viewing pleasure) AND a pat down. (Why no, I wasn't thinking about an act of terror...until I had to take off my shoes, get scanned, and then patted down by an agent who told me to lift my pant leg so she could grope me.)

But hey, there is a solution for the shoe issue:  SLIP ON SHOES.  They are everywhere now.  Fully grown adults are abandoning shoes that tie for slip on shoes because going to the overcrowded "recombobulation" area at the airport is a pain in the butt and you want to get out of there as fast as possible.

BIG RETAIL!

Other countries wonder why people from the US look so sloppy when they travel. It's because we basically are required to travel in pajamas and slippers just to get through security.  We'd probably travel looking classy, like Don Draper, if we didn't have to remove everything before getting scanned.

But, boarding pass in hand, and clothes recombobulated, we get to the gate where we sit...and sit...and maybe shop...and sit.  And we load up on snacks and water because, let's face it, airline snacks and drinks have become...more work than they are worth.

BIG RETAIL!

For this particular trip, once I was shuttled onto the plane with the rest of the cattle, and folded neatly into a seat that would be comfortable for a fairly skinny seven year old, I closed my eyes and prayed for a quick flight.  Because, you see, I'm claustrophobic and I have restless leg syndrome. So an airplane seat is pretty much my definition of the worst thing ever.

But...God has a sense of humor.  And this is why I'm blogging about my flight to Vegas.

I wedged myself into an aisle seat next to what I thought would be a nice, normal couple.  By the end of the four hour flight, I had named my seat neighbors:  Snores-a-lot and Snot-bubble.  That's because the dude, Snores-a-lot had the window seat. He closed his eyes the minute the plane door was closed and immediately began snoring. And I don't mean just a light purr, and I've been known to emit from time to time.  No, I'm talking about seat vibrating, overhead compartment rattling snores (as I've been known to emit from time to time.)  And there was his wife.  She was watching the movie "I can Only Imagine" on her little device.

I should back up a touch.

That song by Mercy Me?  "I Can Only Imagine?"  I HATE THAT SONG.  I refuse to watch the movie because I hate that song so very, very hard. And I know, what's wrong with me?  It's a beautiful lovely song, tender, loving, full of faith and goodness and light and....BLECH.  It's just one of those songs that got played so much now when I hear it I want to tear my ears off.  (And it doesn't help that Hubby loves that song, loved the movie, and now owns the movie.)

So, with that background, let me get back to my story about Snot-Bubble.  She was watching this flick about this gag-o-rific song and as the song progressed she started crying. Then she really started crying. Then she started sobbing so hard, giant snot bubbles popped right out of her nose.  (Hence, the name.)  Did she use the cocktail napkin on her tray to blow her nose?  Nope, she just sucked that snot back into her brain like some congested 3rd grader.  And it would roll out with another sob and she'd suck it back up.  This went on for an hour. AN HOUR.

Now, my seatmates were weird enough...but that's not why I'm blogging about my flight to Vegas.

Nope. It gets better.

As we push away from the airport and begin taxing to the runway, the captain announces something.  Of course, 2/3 of us miss the announcement because we already have our headphones in and are ignoring everything around us.  (With Snot-Bubble and Snores-a-lot next to me, can you blame me?)  So it's not until we all realize that we're GOING BACK TO THE AIRPORT that we all remove our headphones and start asking each other what's going on.

Of course, no one knows for sure.  But Snot-Bubble heard more of the announcement than I did, so she tells me that someone has to get off the plane.  She's freaking out because she's sure (and she convinces me) that this person is leaving and their bag is still on the plane, and we're all going to die.

I'm rolling this theory around in my head when a younger gent with a Rastafarian hat walks up the aisle. He has a sweet face. He turns to us and in a soft voice says he wishes us all a nice flight and a good evening. He explains that he answered the flight attendant's questions four times and has no idea what's going on.  He then points to the rear of the plane where I guess his seat mates are and he says, "And to you back there I say, F--- you, and F--- you, and F--- you."  He then waves with an angelic smile on his face and is ushered out by a sheriff.

Well then.

Now, we all wanted to get more info, but let's face it, the attendants weren't going to tell us, and there isn't enough room for people to get up and go to the back and find out what was going on. So we settled back into our coffins...I mean, seats, and we finally took off.

An hour later...we were once again removing our headphones because this announcement came over:

"Ladies and gentlemen, is there a doctor or a nurse on board?"

We're someplace over Iowa.  It's a this point I'm convinced I'm never getting to Las Vegas.

The single mom vegan across the aisle from me (because what, you think a woman who is a single mom and a vegan isn't going to tell everyone that several times?) poked the guy next to her and asked if he was a doctor. Apparently he was, because he got up and left. Or, he was just tired of hearing her talk about how she's a single mom vegan.  (I should note, she and a date were going to Vegas for a getaway from her special needs adult child.  I know entirely too much about this woman's life because she is a LOUD TALKER and a BIG SHARER.  She made Snot Bubble look like a dream companion.)

A woman made her way to the front. She was one of the nurses (apparently a number of nurses and doctors got up to help. Who knew so many medical professionals weekended in Sin City?)  The medical emergency was a mystery, some woman in the back was running a really high fever and throwing up.  (Oh goodie) All the ice on board was being packed on her to get her fever down.

I was envisioning landing in Topeka and spending three days there.

That's heartless, right?

But, the good news was the nurse was able to fill us all in on what went down with the dude in the hat.  He was sitting in one of those special exit seats where only the most responsible fliers are allowed to sit.  And he was not responsible. He refused to shove his carry on bag under the seat in front of him.  

I realize this is an FAA regulation and rules are rules. But...we were delayed and the cops were called and dude gave up his weekend of great weather in the wild west because he wouldn't put his bag under the seat?  I'm not sure which part of that is more nuts.

Oh, no, flying is great. Flying is awesome.

My eventful flight was worth it, however. I got to catch up with old friends, enjoy some really fantastic weather, and I took THIS PICTURE:

And somehow, when you're standing under the Las Vegas sign, the real world and all the nonsense fades away.