A couple weeks ago Rita, Jim and I went to San Bernardino to an evening outdoor carnival. For those of you not familiar with the area, San Bernardino is North of Buh and East of Fuh. There’s lots of dust and trucks and hot there, is my point. We weren’t sure when we would actually arrive, but we decided to bring little fans we could hang around our neck to keep us cool (this will be important in a second).
At one point during the evening, Rita–as she is wont to do–headed off towards the bathrooms (we bought VIP tickets specifically to avoid porta potties, but the free water and vodka were a nice perk too). I decided that since we had trekked all the way over there, I would partake as well so I followed a minute or two later. The following is the ensuing conversation in the bathroom. First, you should know that it was really hot (and somewhat foul odored) in there.
Girl Waiting in Line: … and there are like five us waiting now.
Second girl: I know, I’m all for … you know .. but we gotta pee.Kimberly: [suffocating from the heat, turns on fan ]
Girls: [turn in surprise, start laughing] Oh! It’s a fan!! The buzzing noise is a fan!
First girl: Maybe the other one is a fan too!Kimberly: Haaa! Yeah that’s my best friend in there! She has one of these too!
Kimberly: Rita! Tell them it’s a fan!!Rita: HAAAAA!!! It’s fan! I swear!!
Second girl: Heh. We were all, go her for doing her own thing, but we gotta pee here.
Yeah, you know, as if it were perfectly reasonable that there was someone in a public restroom– uhm–taking care of herself. It’s just that the line made it inconvienant.
