In a blog dedicated to stupidity it would be hypocritical of me not to mention some of my own acts of idiocy (yes they do happen).
I mentioned in my post on public toilets about the toilet with no bog roll. I never fail to fall into this trap. Work colleagues would often pick up the phone to find me on the other end begging them to bring me a bog roll down to the staff toilet. In my defense, in my usually desperate attempt to find a public toilet fit for human use, somehow the provision of bog roll seems to be the last thing on my mind.
Probably the most embarrassing occasion was a number of years ago while on holiday in Benidorm. The ex-girlfriend and I had gone into a nice little restaurant near our hotel for a spot of lunch, after which the urge came on rather suddenly (I seem to recall I'd had dodgy guts for a few days), so off I trotted to the toilets- refreshingly they were spotless.
I did the business, turned round for the bog roll and, obviously, there was none there.
Panic didn't set in straight away- I reasonably assumed that after I hadn't emerged after 10 minutes or so, the ex would come and make sure I was alright. Now one thing you need to know is when I go on holiday, my phone lives in the hotel room safe. I'm on holiday, I don't want bothering all the time. So phoning my then-girlfriend wasn't an option, but I still had faith she would come to check on me eventually.
30 minutes later I'm still sat on my perch. Then I hear the door open. "Finally!", I'm thinking. But it wasn't the ex, it was a bloke come for a wee. "Excuse me"" I say meekly. No reply, but there is an audible increase in the speed of p*ssing. "Excuse me" I say again, this time a bit more forcefully. The wee-rate increases again, like someone putting their thumb over the end of a hose pipe. Then the b*stard's gone.
It was about this time I realised I was f*cked. The restaurant was virtually empty while we ate lunch, and the one other person in there had just abandoned me in my hour of need. The then-girlfriend obviously wasn't coming to my aid. It had occurred to me that maybe I could use my own boxer shorts to do the clean-up op, but then where would I put them? I could hardly flush them away.
So I just sat there. For ages and ages. I wondered what must be going through the ex's mind- what did she think I was doing in here all this time?! Then the door opens again! I couldn't let this opportunity get away, so this time I craned as far forwards as I could and, opening the cubicle door as little as possible in an attempt to retain what little dignity I had left, poked my head through the gap. There's a bloke stood at the urinal bang in front of me.
"Excuse me mate, you couldn't bring me some bog roll could you please?" I ask, trying not to sound too pathetic. "Yep" he replies, without turning his head or even flinching. I hear the door close and sit there with my fingers-crossed. A few minutes later the door goes again- "Here you go, it's outside the door". And he leaves the toilets, and I am saved!
That really should have been the end of it- I'd clearly suffered enough for one day. But apparently the story of the poor b*stard stuck in the toilet begging for bog roll was one too good not to tell to all and sundry, so in one final act of humiliation, as I returned into the now packed-out restaurant I received a round of rapturous applause and a standing ovation.
Not my finest hour.
