So I head out for a simple, what I thought would be an uneventful, evening with my BFF. After a peaceful dinner and only being harassed once by bar sloths, we head out to our next destination. Anyone and everyone who’s ever been to Harpos knows you only go for 1 of 2 things...after dinner pretzels or to meet your boo who has promised a free drink. I go for secret option 3…I’m a lazy ass who doesn’t want to do dishes so I attend for the free cup.
Somewhere in between ordering pretzels and deciding if we are springing for the bucket of mini bottles of wine, in walks the one-woman dream team. I have dubbed said showshopper, Appalachia. I know what a woman on a mission looks like and Apps looked as if she had the last clue on National Treasure. For the sake of a mental picture, Apps was sporting a Target tank (I know because I own one in every color) jean skirt, boots that I couldn’t describe and knee-highs with a lovely mountain landscape motif peaking out over the edge. Why she couldn’t tuck them in her boots like I do with my year-around Easter socks, I don’t know. I look over the pretzel tower to ask Stace if this was the new trend I was unaware of. The beauty of a BFF…she was already aware and we agreed to monitor the situation.
2 free cups and 3 rousing karaoke performances later, courtesy of the group next to us who would consider themselves professionals no doubt, I decided to take a trip to the ladies. Harpo’s bathrooms are about as clean as a downtown parking garage after a Cardinal game. Of course they were full so I patiently wait in line while deciding if there was more soap on the counter or in the dispenser. Before I go further, let me just say, there are several avenues to girl code. Some are easily skewed and some are clear-cut lines that are never crossed for example: you don’t wear the same outfit as your homey on purpose, if she’s barfing grab her pony, if she ‘goes to the bathroom’ on a date and needs to be scooped in the alley go get her…
As I’m doing the potty dance, one of the stalls frees up and out comes Appalachia. I giggled at the irony and thought to myself, ‘I could be friends with this girl some day.’ I run into the stall, as I was already cutting it close, to be greeted by an overwhelming slap in the face. It takes balls to wear mountain socks outside of your boots but it takes something a lot larger to take an unsolicited dump in a bar bathroom. I will applaud her for seizing the day as I too share the same philosophy, but Apps could have warned me what I was walking in to. The air was so thick in this 3 foot by 5 foot stall, I felt I needed goggles to prevent the airborne pink eye. As if it ended there, I didn’t check the TP situation before committing. That was my bad, but there was nothing left. This roll was bare and I’m not talking little shreds or reminisce…this was flat out brown cardboard. Not only did whoady leave me a hot one in the stall but she also left me without a square. Common. Courtesy. My first thought wasn’t to curse her, it was wondering what she used to wipe. Based on the condition of the roll I’m only led to believe she didn’t make a clean getaway. I no longer believe I could be friends with someone so haphazard. Stace would have came out, giggled at me, tossed me a matchbook and said Godspeed. Just saying