I have an odd reaction to really embarrassing moments.
I get louder and become fearless.
This can be a really bad combination and it rarely leads to things calming down and moving away from whatever the embarrassing starting point was.
Here is a good example from my past.
There is a fine art to having sex in a restaurant.
And I am not artist.
Maybe I should add a little bit of back story here. In a certain sense, I am still the dirty-minded 13 year old I always was.
I was in an El Pollo Loco with a new girlfriend.
We were in the honeymoon stage. That cool period of time right after you figure out that you are sexually compatible, and you really can’t keep your hands off of each other.
You can only sit in a booth making out for so long before the help begin to get twitchy. And we are not wide eyed teenagers. Being past the age of being old enough to know better, but obviously not giving a shit ratchets up the discomfort of others even more.
And that is when the idea of sex in the bathroom begins to make sense.
El Pollo Loco almost encourages this sort of behavior. The bathrooms are always in their own little secluded hallway.
This discourages witnesses. And the bathrooms are single occupant only.
We are both a little iffy about the whole scandalous thing right up until we get in the bathroom.
Its on like donkey kong.
Less than 30 seconds later the knock on the door comes.
Its loud, its impatient and its incessant.
“We have to stop.” She is the voice of reason in these situations.
“No, we don’t.” I am really not in control of my actions at this point. My penis has taken control and he is a tyrant.
“Stop” Once out of their teens, women are much harder to talk into things they have decided against.
“How do we get out of here?” NOW she is worried. Women hate witnesses. Men view witnesses as more of an annoyance than an embarrassment.
This is where I become Rambo with a hard on.
“We go out one at a time, no eye contact.”
She straightens her clothes while I put mine back on. Men seem to get naked a hell of a lot quicker in these situations.
I put my hands on the lock and the door knob and look back at my somewhat nervous partner in crime. I blow her a kiss, but I can tell she is missing the humor of the gesture.
I open the door and find an old woman waiting with her hand poised to rap on the door again.
Her eyes widen in shock at a man coming out of the bathroom. I focus on the hallway next to her and step past.
“All yours chief.” I am now headed for the parking lot.
Pure guilt makes me look over my shoulder.
It is worth risking the look back.
My partner had tried to push the door shut the moment I cleared the thresh hold.
The old woman recovered from her shock quickly and tried to get into the bathroom.
There is a brief struggle with both trying to move the door, one to get it open and the other to close it, presumably to hide.
Then the door is forced open.
My partner makes her first mistake.
Eye contact, frozen in place.
A number of things should be falling into place mentally for the old woman at this point.
If there is more to be seen, I have no way of knowing.
The front door is in my hand and I am now free.
You are on your own, sweetie.
Don’t hold it against me, survival is an instinctive thing, and those old ladies can be vicious.
A few minutes later, my now thoroughly embarrassed partner exits the El Pollo to find me across the parking lot, sitting on the hood of the car, smiling and about to begin laughing loud.
“You’re an asshole!”
What the hell did I do?
I would ask, but I have pulled enough shit in my past that I don’t question the asshole accusation.
She forgave me, eventually.
As part of an unspoken agreement, we steered clear of fast food bathrooms from there on out.
Looking back, I view that as a damn shame.
There is a poster I see here and there about living life.
Here is my version.
And if you are ever kicked out of an El Pollo Loco bathroom for having sex, NO EYE CONTACT!