A new French restaurant opened in my neighborhood, so last night, after procuring a baby sitter for the kids, we went out for a Grownups Night Out with Liz and Larry.
The neighborhood has been eagerly anticipating this restaurant. For months, while construction was underway, each time I passed by, I'd peer through the dusty windows to try and ascertain an opening date. I'd count the number of finished surfaces, multiply by pi, and optimistically screech "ANY DAY NOW!". I was wrong for a very long time. (Note: this was excellent training to prepare me for the merciless delays in our own remodeling project, thanks to our contractor, Ming).
Anyway, we were all pretty excited to get some new eats. San Francisco is a wondrous land of delectable treats, but our own neighborhood has been woefully under-served by the gourmet industry for a very very very long time. Consequently the restaurant was packed last night. It's a pretty small joint, so the tables are wedged quite close to each other. The wait staff had a harrowing time navigating through the tiny slices of space between the tables.
This made for a crowded and cozy dining experience. Conversations naturally flowed from one table to the next, which was often only a few inches away. The fact that it was a neighborhood restaurant only added to the friendly and nearly intimate environment, making me feel that the other tables were populated by people who probably lived just down the street.
There's also only one bathroom in place. (Who here knew this was going to turn into a bathroom post? Me too.) Our table was pretty close to the john, but the restaurant is so small that they're all close to it. You couldn't help but notice when the bathroom was in use, and you often noticed who was on their way to/from it.
At one point it was my turn to use the john. I made my way to the can, closed the door, and found... a seat covered in urine. Doh!
Normally this isn't a big deal in a public restroom for a dude. I wasn't planning on plopping my ass onto the seat, so having a piss-covered commode was distasteful, but not really problematic. The issue, however, was that I was going to have to leave this bathroom in a minute and the next person to arrive was going to assume that I had liberally sprayed my urine all over the room in a spastic attempt to mark my lavatory turf.
So, after I pissed, I... wiped... up... some... other.... asshole's.... piss.
It didn't feel so all goddamned friendly after that.
I had a lovely time though.