This weekend I treated myself to some alone time and went to a casual, pub-like restaurant at a luxury resort hotel. A real treat: spacious 6-top maroon leather booths set for four; weighty, crisp, white linens; heavy, silver tableware, and portraits on the walls of this famous hotel family.
Kevin-who’ll-be-my-server-today, showed me to one of those booths, took my coat and bags, (I had stopped at the mall), shared the specials with me, and on his recommendation, I had Crab Louis – a wonderful lunch I dawdled over, with a nice white wine, and a newly purchased murder mystery.
Kevin checked on me, served me, poured me, asked me, advised me, cleared me, took my money, while I fantasized that if he were in my employ, I’d probably hire him as the pool boy – but then reality arrived.
The Ladies’ room was just as elegant as the restaurant – dark, paneled wood, marble sinks, lots of tile, floor to ceiling doors, with stalls the size of walk-in closets.
There’s nothing worse than a warm public toilet seat – but this seat wasn’t just warm – it was toasty. It’s been about 30 Deg’s F here all week, so a warm seat was welcome.
A HOT seat got worrisome, when I realized that my cheeks weren’t the only things getting the attention.
Maybe this bowl was like a bidet ‘cause I could swear the heat was coming from the water directly under my “naughty-bit/s.” A public sitz bath perhaps?
I was up and flushing when I realized the handle was warm and the tank was hot. But, I was fine – not poached, steamed, or roasted.
I stood there bewildered, almost giggling and looking around for the hidden cameras. I checked the other stalls – those toilets were cold. Mixed up pipes? Talk about incredulous – this was something out of a Laurel and Hardy janitor movie.
Where was that server when I needed him; you’d think after 2 hours we’d have some telepathy going. But no – just like every other man when there’s a plumbing problem – he’s probably off helping a friend move.
I finally found Kevin and told him about my experience on the throne. He asked if the toilet was leaking – completely ignoring the hot water topic. From the look on his face, I knew he didn’t believe a word I said. Who would – this is the stuff cartoons are made of.
I asked to speak to a manager – maybe a female and Kev was glad to desert me and run off to find help.
Dragging her into the restroom, then the stall, I had to insist that she feel the tank – yet, you could see the steam rising from the bowl.
I left her shaking her head and with a death grip on her clipboard.
I left chuckling, wondering how Kevin would look working in a sewer!
Hi there! Found you on humorbloggers.com. Anyway wow yeah, that’s WEIRD. Had you been to the restaurant before? If so, had you ever been in that particular stall before? (I know – totally bizarre question but you were the one who brought it up, LOL) Otherwise yeah, there ARE some fancy-shmancy toilets that automatically heat the seat and clean/dry you front and back with the press of a button (Toto makes ’em) but it doesn’t sound like that was the case. Maybe the plumber goofed and connected the water source of that particular toilet to the hot water instead of the cold? Otherwise, no idea. But your blog did indeed make me chuckle. Cheers!
Kate Rawlins said:
Thanks for stopping by – Little Bit. Yep – I’d been there before and no problems. As far as I know, this was just a case of mistaken identity – hooking up the wrong pipes to each other. It’s a little funny and a little scary – on the what if side. Kate
Makes me want to visit every stall in every hotel in the city and “test the waters” and gage them from cold to tepid to warm to scalding … And then report my findings, measure management responses from “an-above-me attitude” to “who-really-cares” — I could become a “Stall Auditor” !!! It just might be more intesting than what I’m doing now …