Could You Please Direct This Weary Traveler To The Facilities?

*** continued from previous post ***


I stood there dripping, cold, and wet. I eyed them. They eyed me. I heard soft whimpers and hushed whispers from the corners of the room.

From behind the desk a deep and raspy voice says, "There's a fireplace in the corner where you can warm yourself."

The guy standing next to her shakes his head in agreement and points over to the far wall where a group of elderly women are jockeying for position, pushing each other to the front of the group trying, unsuccessfully, to use their friends as a human shield. My head swiveled, scanning the room looking for your mother. Eye contact was made with several of the other tourists. Much like submissive Chimps, they avert my gaze and shield their eyes with their hands making soft "oh-oh aw och" noises. Someone flung a banana, or it may have been monkey poo, I didn't look. The point is your mother is nowhere to be seen. I hope they have not, in Kubrickian glee, clubbed her to death but I'll have to deal with that later. Right now I have more pressing issues as my bladder begins to rupture. Besides, she's pretty scrappy and I believe she still has her shank and her rock.

In the friendliest tone I can muster, under the circumstances, I say, "Thank you. You're all so very kind and I appreciate your hospitality. You certainly have created a warm and inviting environment for a weary traveler on this awful, wet, horrendous day. I believe I will skip the fire for now, but if you could, perchance, direct me to your facilities I would be forever grateful." I smile, showing my teeth in what I hope will be interpreted as a charming gesture but I'm not making any guarantees.

Yes, that would have been grand.

Unfortunately, what came out, rather loudly and in a screeching tone, was "I GOTTA PEE!", and instead of smiling I just kind of drooled a little out of the corner of my mouth.

The room, in unison and as if on cue, much like the flocking behavior of geese, or fish, or Rotarians, pointed me to a tile lined hallway that led off the main room.

I turn my back on these frightened Albertans, against my better judgment, – for we had left the sanity of British Columbia sometime during the day – and head off down the hallway, my cane making squeaky noises on the wet flooring.


*** the journey continues ***