October 13, 2009

  • The Girl In the Men’s Room At IHOP

    The Old Fart and I were having lunch yesterday in a booth near the restrooms, just across from the door to the kitchen.  The noise in the place was intense:  someone kept changing the station on the radio playing over the PA system, a bus person and at least one cook or dishwasher were either angry or clumsy or both, and several nearby conversations had jacked up their vocal volume in compensation.

    From across the dining room behind me, I heard a loud vocalization that could have been a hysterical laugh, a cry of indignation, or of mortal pain.  The O.F. went on speaking, so I don’t suppose he heard it.  He seems to be losing his hearing — but it’s hard to know if it’s getting any worse.  As long as I’ve known him, he has apparently heard less than half what I say to him, and likes to crank the volume way up on his music.

    But I digress.  The ambiguous cries were repeated with increasing volume.  Eventually, I saw the O.F. react.  He rose slightly from his seat, craning to see past me, but apparently didn’t spy the source of those cries.  Next time the waitress sailed by, he flagged her down and asked if someone was being murdered over there.  I had been wondering if someone was having a baby.

    The waitress paused for a moment and stuttered:  “It’s a r-r- sp- special education student.”   Then she was gone.  The O.F. rolled his eyes, and we exchanged a few words regarding political correctness as the cries continued to escalate.

    Suddenly, the anguished vocalizations ceased entirely.  I suspected that someone had gagged or strangled the kid, until I saw a girl I took to be her trudging hurriedly toward the restrooms.  Instantly, I surmised that an urgent call of nature had motivated her distress calls.

    Next, I saw her enter the nearest door, which happened to be the men’s room.  Then, from that direction, I heard a somewhat muffled high-pitched scream.  Then, all grew silent.  Silence prevailed — except for the pan-clanging, dish-clashing, radio-clamoring background noise — for the next few minutes, as I kept an eye on the restroom door.

    The girl didn’t emerge, but eventually a big woman arrived from somewhere behind me, entering first the women’s room, and then the men’s.  Shortly after she entered the men’s room, the girl emerged and walked back toward their booth, followed by the big woman, whose face was flaming red and her stride stiff with fury.  Neither before the girl had entered the men’s room, nor after both of them departed, did I see any men go in there or come out.  It’s all a minor mystery to me.

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