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Two Women in the Men’s Room

I was sitting at the bar, feeling the weight of world on my shoulders.  No, that’s not quite correct.  I was feeling the weight of the world on my bladder.  So I went to the Men’s Room, and did something about it.

While I was in the middle of doing about it, I heard the door of the men’s room’s sit-down stall open behind me and I heard a gasp.  A female gasp.  Yes, it seems a young lady was using the Men’s Room and hadn’t heard me enter.

A woman in the Men’s Room may seem like a strange thing to you, but in Chicago it really isn’t that strange.  The line for the Women’s Room piles up and the ladies get bold and demanding.  God forbid a guy walk into the Women’s Room.  Bit of a double standard, there.  Especially since Women’s Rooms are all stalls and Men’s Rooms tend to have the men standing against the wall.  (At least this particular Men’s Room wasn’t using a trough.)  Still, usually the women have somebody standing outside the door if they’re going to venture in.  The sense of entitlement for this young lady was high enough there wasn’t even a friend on guard duty.

The door slammed shut and I started to hear a couple of what I’d call terror noises.  I told to go ahead and leave, I wasn’t going to be turning around.  (Indeed, I was occupied.)  She wanted none of that.  Apparently, she went into the Men’s Room and didn’t expect to see any men.  Clearly, I was dealing with a Rhodes Scholar.

So, I finished my business.  As I opened the door, yet another young lady peered over my shoulder and asked if there was anyone in there.

It seems it was Lady’s Night at the Weak Bladder Bar.  And sure enough, this second lady who couldn’t wait to use her own room had not brought along someone to watch the door.

“Well,” I said to her with a straight face.  “There is one person in there, but it’s a girl.”

“What?” said lady number two as she shot me a confused glance.

“She was using the stall when I went in and is afraid to come out.”

I got blank look.

“You should go in there, knock on the stall door and tell her it’s your turn.”

She didn’t think that was such a good idea.

I opened the door wide.  “See?  Nobody else in there.  Go on.  It will be funny.  She’s got it coming.”

Lady number two hesitated.  She wanted to say no, but Mother Nature won out over better judgment.  I let the door shut behind her and moved a couple feet towards the bar, so as to get a better look at the parade when Our Lady of Irrigation walked out.

Sure enough, about 30 seconds later, out came the mystery woman.  Nearly embarrassed to death, by the look of her and oh, but that was an unkind glance shot my way.

“Don’t do the crime, if you can’t do the time,” or so the saying goes.

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