7-11 is a convenience store. The restroom is known as a convenience room (amongst others like washroom, toilet, ladies'/men's room, restroom, lavatory, powder room, comfort station, etc). This brings us to a little story, shared over coffee the other day, as Arena told me of the one time she had quite an experience over a restroom, a convenience store and a box of contraceptives.Long time ago, Arena enjoys the company of Caucasians (she still does by the way, but now more as a singular noun), preferably of the hunkalicious, studly kind – existence of a viable brainstem, optional.
There was this one time when she met one of the aforementioned species of male over wine. Actually, I should over the glaze of wine; or many glazes of wine – well, she was essentially plastered. She had so much alcohol in her blood stream, she would’ve chemically fused with the paint on the walls of the pub.
However, she had fusion of a very kind in mind that night. The hunkalicious no-brainer had offered to “send her home” (whose? I wondered in my mind) and she had gladly accepted the “wonderfully chivalrous gesture” (uh huh, I bet). In any case, Arena claims that thoughts of a nocturnal horizontal rhumba transpired while in transit (and I believed her because, when she told me, I was born just the day before).
Rummaging through her purse, she realized she “wasn’t protected that night” to which our chivalrous no-brainer answered, “but I am here to protect you…” in his best Barry White voice (which at hindsight, she now claims to sound like Mickey Mouse played at half speed). Even in her drunken state, she was stunned by that respond that was at once as romantic as it was stupid (as in “clueless”). She made two blank blinks which matched his blank stare.
Finally getting it through to him that she needed (and preferred) the “protection” of the rubber sheath type, our Caucasian chivalry made a beeline to the nearest 24-hour mall.
When he finally got back to the car, she was woken up by a loud bang on the door of the chivalrous ride. Our man had returned, with a conspicuous sheen of perspiration, and while waiting, Arena had fallen asleep in the car.
“What happen…?” Arena asked over her semi-plastered brain activity, “you were gone for … *checks watch and gasp* an hour?!”
A guilty expression appeared on the face of our hunk d’jour.
To spare you from the insanity that is the explanation that Arena gave, our dear man was looking for the nearest 7-11, a local convenience store in the mall. He had seen a sign with a direction pointing to “something convenience” and promptly rushed in that direction without noticing where he had moved through.
When he arrived that the end of the directory, he realized he had arrived at the toilet (I know, I was equally puzzled at this stage of her tale, but read on o gentle reader). We are familiar with the type of endless corridor a mall is famous for, yes? Unfortunately, for our Caucasian traveler, one is not familiar and his mad rush (hormonally, I suspect) had not noticed where he had passed. In his panic, he kept winding around the mall without any clue as to where he was, has been and/or getting to.
In the end, our dear man of the hour, our chivalry in blond couldn’t handle it (heh heh) anymore and promptly took matters into his own hands… literally… he rushed to the toilet and erm… found his satisfaction; which explains the patina of perspiration (that and the tropical humidity).
If you are still bewildered as to how looking for a 7-11 drove our hero to a toilet, wonder no more. A few days after the incident, as fate would have it, Arena found herself back at the said mall, but this time round, twice as sober. She walked through the automated sliding glass door and let the blast of cool, conditioned air welcome her. Sashaying across the giant jute doormat and pass the information, she saw it through a glint at the corner of her right eye – a sign hanging from the ceiling.
CONVENIENCE ROOM*
*For those lost in translation; the term “convenience room” is a slightly archaic and ultra formal (albeit in a Japanese-obscure) way of referring to the toilet.
Posts
0 comments:
Post a Comment