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A
friend of mine, who shall remain nameless, is known to have
destroyed at least three toilets in his drinking adventures.
The first one was on a post-graduation trip to Greece with
some friends. I always imagined it went something like this…
The
First Toilet
By Li Rapkin
"The
thing about Sparta," said John, waving his glass of ouzo
around recklessly, "is that it's been boring for all
of recorded history." Deanna carefully guided John's
glass away from her head. He quickly downed the rest of his
drink and signaled for another. "In fact," he slurred,
slamming the glass down, "in fact, I'll bets that's why
they were always going off to war. Nothing to do here but
drink."
"It's
certainly not Athens," Deanna agreed.
"Athens
had restaurants…good restaurants," John proclaimed
as he peered over the rim of his glass. "Athens had art…
architecture… markets… museums… uh… democracy…
and…and …"
"Retsina?"
"Retsina!
Lots of retsina."
"Less
since you were there." Deanna's observation went right
past John, who was trying to convince the waitress to bring
him a pitcher of the wretched ouzo they'd been drinking. The
first glass tasted like licorice-flavored lighter fluid, and
Deanna had switched to mineral water. They sat in companionable
silence for a while, until John sat up straight and blinked
rapidly, several times.
"Dee?"
"Yes?"
"Dee?"
"Yes?"
"Dee,
I think I've gotten to the passing-out part. Or maybe the
throwing-up part."
"Do
you want to me to take you back to your room?"
John nodded
unhappily. "Please?"
"Got
your key?"
John attempted
to search his pockets, but somebody had apparently moved them.
Deanna raised an eyebrow. "Never mind, I'll take you
through my half of the suite. No puking until you're in your
own room, though." She slipped an arm under his shoulders
and helped him back to the hotel. She had to prop him up against
the wall while she found her own key. He started to slide
down, and she caught him just as he started to tip over sideways.
Carefully, she guided him across her room, through the connecting
bathroom, and past the various bags scattered around his room.
She sat him down on the bed and allowed him to fall backward.
Deanna sighed, removed his shoes, and rolled him all the way
onto the bed.
"Dee?"
"Yes?"
"Dee?"
"Yes?"
"Sparta's
a shithole, Dee."
"I
know."
"A
shithole."
"Right.
A shithole. We'll go back to Athens tomorrow, OK?"
"OK"
"I'm
going out for a while, John."
"OK."
"Goodnight
John."
"'Night,
Dee."
Deanna
shook her head as she headed back to her room, closing the
bathroom door behind her. Sparta is, in fact, a shithole,
but there's got to be someplace to get a late-night snack.
Bright
Greek sunlight flooded through the room, burrowing into John's
head like a crazed badger. Thunder reverberated through his
skull as a door slammed nearby. A moment later, something
blocked the light. John ventured a peek between his gritty
eyelids. Deanna was upside-down, wearing a turquoise bathrobe
and an expression that meant trouble.
"What
the hell did you do last night?"
John discovered
that his head was hanging off the foot of the bed. He groaned
and rolled over. "Please, Dee, a little respect for the
dying."
"You're
not dying, you're hung over." A bottle of mineral water
and a bottle of Midol landed on the bed next to his head.
"Take those and get up. You've got some explaining to
do."
Fortunately,
Deanna didn't believe in childproof caps. He swalloed the
pills and looked up. Deanna's arms were crossed tightly across
her chest, and she was tapping her foot impatiently. As he
sat up, she pulled something off a chair and threw it at him.
It turned out to be his robe. He shrugged into it, trying
not to move too quickly.
"Um…Dee?"
"What?"
"Was
I naked when…"
"When
what?"
"What
exactly did we do last night?"
"You
drank a lot of really foul ouzo. I brought you back here-fully
dressed-and dropped you on your bed. Then I went out for a
snack, came back here, and went right to bed. This morning,
I went in to take a shower, and I found this." She threw
open the bathroom door, and pushed him in. "You'll noticed
Exhibit 'A' over here," she continued, pulling back the
shower curtain. The toilet seat, or at least, most of the
toilet seat, was in the tub. A few of the surrounding tiles
appeared to be freshly cracked. "Exhibit 'B' is over
there." Deanna pointed across the room, where the lid
to the toilet tank was in three pieces under the sink. A towel
bar next to the sink was askew and dented. "Not to mention
Exhibit 'C'." Next to the abused commode, the toilet-paper
holder had been ripped out of the wall. Looking up, John noticed
his underwear hanging from an otherwise empty towel rack.
The towels were missing.
"Dee,
I don't remember doing any of this. I don't remember anything
after we left that wretched bar."
Deanna
shook her head slowly. "I can't take you anywhere. I
can't even dress you up. Jesus, John, close your robe!"
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