Behind the Ladies Room Door

The last time my in-laws visited, a month ago or so, we went to lunch at a family restaurant that has a few locations in Rhode Island. It is not a particularly fancy restaurant, but they are known for their impossibly fabulous cakes which I daydreamed about from the moment we sat down in our booth.

Before our lunch arrived I got up to use the ladies room. I was at the sink washing my hands when an old lady struck up a conversation with me.

“You know, I’ve written to the manager of this restaurant and asked him to move the waste basket in here,” she gestured toward the trash bin, located just under motion sensing electronic paper towel dispenser. She waved her hand in front of the sensor, and the paper towel shot out the bottom of the machine. “See? The clean paper towel ends up inside the trash can. And then I have to wipe my hands on something that’s been in the trash. It’s not sanitary,” she complained.

I reached over, shoved the can under the sink and said “There you go.” She smiled at me, threw her paper towel into the newly relocated trash bin, and walked out of the bathroom. I returned to the booth and told Todd and his parents about the interaction I just had in the ladies room.

“I mean,” I spoke of the incident, “I can’t wait to be old so I’ll have enough time to write to the manager of a restaurant to complain about the location of the trash can in the rest room.” We laughed as our entrees were served.

We ate our meals, Todd and I shared an obscenely large piece of cake, and then my mother-in-law excused herself to the ladies room. When she returned she was laughing, “The trash can is back under the paper towel dispenser. That little old lady is going to be so mad.”