Friday, October 14, 2005

Toilet Humour

This is a lazy post. That's okay, because by nature I am lazy.

Went to the opening night of a play last night and this happened. I more or less forgot about it until I needed to write my Acid Tongue column. Once again I left it until the last minute and had no idea what I was going to write about. This is what came out of my brain...

Some time ago I found myself standing at the trough taking a piss next to a famous guy. He wasn’t someone I particularly admired or respected, but he was famous in the old skool sense – ie: he did stuff of worth as opposed to merely being a reality television knob. Anyway, it was a pretty uncomfortable pee because I felt compelled to say something to him. Standing there shoulder to shoulder while our urine cascaded into the trough and not acknowledging who he was seemed like a kind of snub. But what was I going to say? “Gee this feels nice.” Or “Come here often?” Maybe, “Like your work,” in which case he might think I was talking about the way he wielded his willy. Clearly, it was better to say nothing and if I offended him, so be it. We pissed, we zipped, we went our separate ways. Then last night at the theatre I wandered into the toilet at intermission and was confronted with the same potential situation. The only other person at the trough was the famous playwright himself. It was one of those two-man troughs. Fuck. What to do? There was no way I could join him and not say something about the first act. It was a world premier after all and, you know, it was pretty damn good. What I probably should have done is stood beside him and said with a yawn, “Bloody hell the play’s dragging a bit isn’t it?” Instead I went into a cubicle. Good thing too because someone else came in then and stood beside the famous writer and tried to engage him in precisely the kind of conversation I dread ever instigating. He said the play was going well so far. “Yeah? Thanks.” He said he really liked the funny bits. “That a fact? Thanks mate.” He said that the sad bits were good too. “You think so? Thanks. The second act gets better.” He also thought the set design was pretty ace. “Yes. Isn’t it.” I swear I could hear the writer’s piss hitting the stainless steal with more pressure with each comment; poor bastard just wanted to piss in peace, and he has some fucking man-bimbo dribbling platitudes in his ear. What’s my point? Just that the writer has probably forgotten the incident, the other guy probably remembers at being the best pee of his life, and until 15 minutes ago I had no idea how I was going to fill this column space. Thank God for life’s strange little moments.

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