Tobyjoe and I headed to Nevada Smiths on Sunday to watch the England vs. Ecuador game. At 9 AM the upstairs bar was already full so we headed downstairs where there was more room. Soon, the downstairs was packed as well. We stood there for about an hour and a half watching people trickle in and stake out a spot. Slowly, we were pushed closer and closer together. I began to regret my decision to watch the game in public away from the airiness of our couch but their tagline had read: “Where Football is Religion” Still, it was crowded and very early and we hadn’t even eaten breakfast yet.
Little did I know at the time was by the end of the game we would have witnessed a crowd of people sing the words to Football’s Coming Home in unison all the while bouncing up and down like human pogo sticks. I would also have a foreign vagina spotting under my belt. Only retrospectively would I realize that we had made the right decision to stick around. Plus, the photo-ops were spectacular.
Prior that realization, however, my regretful thoughts about being there became even more intense. And the climax took place at the bathroom directly following halftime.
The bathroom was at the rear of the bar beneath two out of a total of seven TV sets. I asked the two girls standing there if they were waiting. They shook their heads and immediately turned back to the TVs. And so I advanced.
I put my hand on the doorknob and turned. It creaked into motion but grudgingly so. I pulled the door open. Inside the one-person bathroom, stood a woman. She hovered in place. Her legs were open as she peed. Before I figured out exactly what I was looking at, she let out a blood-curdling scream. In all of my life, I don’t think I have ever heard a woman scream like that. And that scream was well called for considering the bathroom sat beneath two TV sets, which held the attention of hundreds of eyes.
She pulled the door shut. I went into a state of shock. I’m not sure who was more humiliated: me, for exposing such a vulnerable act and for having to stand there as everyone else shook his or her heads in horror, or her for being the one I had exposed. Obviously, her mortification outshone my own, but I still felt ugly.
Thinking someone might seek revenge, I chose to wait a while and watch the game instead of relieving myself. She came out and did the walk of shame back to her horrified group of friends. Even though they had seen everything and heard her scream, she retold them the story from her point of view. I listened quietly as I waited to pee.
About a week ago, Tobyjoe and I were having dinner in SoHo when the same thing took place. Tobyjoe had come back to the table looking a little pale.
“I just saw the most disturbing thing in the bathroom. You know how I’m always spotting women’s vaginas? Well, this time, I wish I hadn’t.”
It’s true, Tobyjoe is always spotting women’s vaginas. We’ll be walking down the street and he’ll see one ride by on a bike. One time, we were at Brooklyn Industries, a local clothing store, when he saw one on the couch reading a book. He spots vaginas all over the place. And you thought programming was his forte. He’s seen them on stairs, on LES fire escapes, boarding buses, and eating bagels. He’s a superhero. I have named him Vagina Man.
This particular spotting was not one he was proud of. He went on to tell me about how he had opened an unlocked bathroom door and saw a woman peeing while hovering. He was a lot freaked out by this. Vagina Man was freaked out. She yelled at him. He scolded her for not locking the door. The two went their separate ways and I got to hear about it. One might say I was better prepared for my experience on Sunday.
While I was away showing the entire British pub another woman’s vagina, someone stole my breakfast. Granted, my breakfast was one pint of Guinness. This is the point in the story where you’re not supposed to judge me for actually having a beer for breakfast, or opening the bathroom door while a woman peed you’re supposed to judge the bastard who stole my beer.