that's a load of crap off my back

So I went to this schmancy Hawaiian restaurant -- the kind where even your beer comes with a little umbrella, and a live ukelele band covers Brother Iz and makes conversation impossible. Waiters wear brightly flowered shirts that no ninja would ever be caught wearing in public, and tables of drunk dudes demand to be "lei'd" by the hostess. Even non-island food is exotified, like the "Mauna Kea Burger" or the "Kona Koffee Burrito" or whatever. You've got the mental picture.

Anyway, my bladder can only take so many umbrella-beers before it is time to water the garden, so I beelined for the bathroom, which was next to a giant Tiki-head with glowing-red eyes, like something out of a Polynesian horror flick. The door was locked, I knocked, and a dude gave me the "just-a-minute," so I kicked it with Humpty (the Tiki-head) and pretended not to look at the dinner guests facing my direction.

Dude took like five minutes in there, so I knew he was waiting for the evacuation, and not the flood. Finally, just as I'm about to suck it up and try the women's stall, there is a flush, and the dude comes out immediately, surrounded by a foul stench. This, I decide, will not do. He was not in there long enough post-flush to wash his hands, and he wasn't the least bit concerned, even though I was giving him the, um, stink eye. I stared at him as he made his way back to his table, and as he sat, he just gave me a grin, daring me to call him out.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the courage, plus I really had to pee. I did request Ween's "Don't Shit Where You Eat" from the ukelele band, but they didn't know that one.



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