Then there are public bathrooms. This is your home bathroom's hideous twin sister.  The public bathrooms are a little too big and impersonal.  There's always some odor.  It doesn't wash regularly.  The constant flow of men leave the public bathroom looking like a terribly aged and worn out hooker.  You go up to it only for the need to release - and you're too far from home to go to your old lady at home.

The office bathroom is probably the most awkward.  If you work in a smaller office, you have a high possibility of running into a co-worker in there.  The other day I went into our tiny tiny bathroom and smelled a foul odor.  I notices someone was in the stall.  I had been there too long for me to just walk out.  I had to go to the urinal.  I wouldn't have mentioned anything if the person in the stall hadn't started talking to me.  He said something along the lines of it getting colder in the near future.  I was at the urinal answering my short answers until he started asking involved questions - what are your plans for the weekend?  When was the last time you talked to what's her face?  What's the ED's schedule looking like?   All awful questions that can't be answered by yes/no's.  This is a pretty bad situation.

Maybe one day I'll become comfortable enough with my BMs to talk to someone while I'm taking a smelly dump.  Hopefully that day never comes.

 JJRC

John Mayer and Mary Kate Olsen stand at a New York street corner having awkward conversation.

Mary Kate

I used to sell drugs on this corner.

John

That's cool.

Mary Kate

Yeah.

John

So...do you like music?

Mary Kate

No.

John

Oh.

Silence.

John

Do you like food?

Mary Kate

Laughs. 

John

Looks around.

End Scene.

Act 4, Scene 2

 Lance Armstrong and Ashley Olsen sit at a cafeteria, laughing.

Lance

That's the funniest thing I've ever heard!

Ashley

I know, Bob Saget is kind of an asshole.

Lance

And it never grew back?

Ashley

Note even a little!

Lance

Man.

Ashley

I know.

Lance

Okay, now tell me the truth.  What's John Stamos like in real life?

Ashley

Oh, he's a sweetheart.

Lance

I knew it!

Ashley

But what about you?  What is it about bicycles that you like so much?

Lance

I don't know, I guess it's something about the duality.  Two wheels, two pedals.  I've just always had a thing for even numbers.  That's why this...you know, whole ordeal has been kind of rough.

Ashley

That's funny, I'm the opposite.  I've never liked even numbers.  Maybe it's just my response to being part of a pair for so long.  I don't even like to wear pants, because they come in a pair.

Lance

It's amazing how we're so different, and yet I still find myself wanting to be with you.

Ashley

It's amazing how you're so old, and yet I still find myself wanting to be with you!

End Scene. 

I get off to a good start when I walk in by walking up the desk. The "register specialist" asks me if I want a regular haircut and how do I respond? I proudly announce, "Chad." Yes, sir, I marched in there and let her know, "I mean business and I'm not listening to a word you say." After we dance a facial tango of confusion and a verbal tennis match of slow, oddly paced questions we confirm that I would like a regular haircut and a shampoo. A slim lady with some creative hair is ready to get my hair cut. Now, when I say creative, I most certainly mean it in the trying-to-come-off-as-an-almost-nice-guy-
complimenting-her-uniqueness-while-completely-slamming-her-for-having-such-an-outrageously-wild-hair-style kind of way. Kind of like this:

Image stolen from http://www.filmedge.com.

So there I am sitting underneath the rushing waters of the shampoo basin. I smile. I smile. I smile. All I do is I sit there and smile waiting for her to make the first move. I try to look as friendly as possible. I even brainstorm something to say, but I don't say it. We move over to the chair and I sit there and I smile. She adjusts the chair to accommodate for my vertically challenged body (that being the politically correct term) and I'm registering John Wayne Gacy on the creep-ometer. Trying to be a little less of a pedophile and a little more of a confident twenty year old with a zest for life, I bob my head as I look into the mirror, as if to assess the situation at hand.

Quick quiz: What is the number of this clipper attachment and how will your hair look afterwards?

If your answer was anywhere between

	and
Image courtesy of http://www.tetesrasees.com		Image courtesy of http://www.jupiterimages.com

Then you are correct, because I don't know! Barbers speak their own little language while they dance their blades around your head. Is a three good? Is it? I don't know. Please don't kill me. Rounded or square? What does that even mean? I'm going to go with rounded because square couldn't possibly be a good thing.

After getting my hair order squared away, we sit in silence. I'm brainstorming topics to ask about or to talk about, but coming up with nothing. I think about asking if she likes hair, but then it hits me. What if she's the one weirdo who isn't legally allowed to touch someone and this was just a means to molest my skull? What kind of dumb question is that anyways? Maybe I should try, "Do you come here often?" instead. I sit and ponder. A simple "How was your day?" gets shot down because she might actually tell me about her day from Hell.

I sit there for seven or eight minutes in silence. I listen to the background music. As if I didn't feel awkward enough, some crappy song ends when the barber blurts out, "This song makes me want to just grab a comb and slash my wrists." I sat there and thought about it before I started laughing. The thought of a lady slashing at her wrists, creating a maelstrom of blood with that goofy, blue comb just gets me cracking up. I look into the mirror for approval, but she's deadly serious. I clench the chair, white-knuckled, just waiting for this experience to end. The second she brushed my shoulders off with that useless brush, I furiously walked to the counter to pay and got out of there. Conversations with the barber are always so awkward. I'm waiting a while before I get another hair-cut.

Cabbie 1: No, I don't think you need to know about that...

This one cabbie was pretty interesting - simply because I flagged him down twice in one day.  If you live in New York, you know the possibilities of that occurring are basically impossible - except that it happened to me... so I guess it's possible.  I digress.  This guy picked up by my high school.  I had extra change and needed to get home fast... but I had to go back down for whatever reason.  It appears in the 30 minutes I was at home - he hadn't gone far and was leaving the area when I stopped him - this made him think we were family.

Cabbie1:  So, you like school?

Me: Umm - Yeah - it's ok - I guess.

Cabbie 1: You go to college soon, no?

Me: Most likely.  I'll applying probably next year.

Cabbie 1: You like to fuck?

Me: Excuse me? (I must have heard wrong.  So he repeated himself - loudly)

Cabbie 1: You like to fuck?

Me: (I'm thinking - well there's obvious answer - and the answer that will make this conversation stop)  No, I don't

Cabbie 1: Good, good- you just kiss them - keeps you clean - no disease.

Me: (I noticed I was a block away from the school - and we were at a red light) This is fine - here's money - no change please.

Cabbie 1: But...

Me: Bye!

Yep... that was the end of that one.  Somehow being picked up twice in one day makes this man think he can ask me things my friends wouldn't even consider talking about.  I guess the Catholic school uniform gave it away - I'm an insatiable sex-machine.... I dunno who asks those kinds of questions, but it was pretty awkward (he didn't seem to mind).

Cabbie 2: I think I'm full for now - thanks.

This guy was incredibly frazzled when he picked me up.  I thought he might be a little looney - of course I was in a hurry so I just climbed aboard.  He was on his phone - talking to his wife.  They were arguing about some game that he played too much of - I could tell this was going to be a blast.

Cabbie 2: No woman, it helps me relax...  I said that already... I have to go... there's someone with me.  - Where you going?

Me: I'm going to xyz.

Cabbie 2: Ok, I can take you (He speeds off unaware that he has to obey laws.)  My wife hates my fucking Xbox.  It helps me relax you know?  Says we don't have enough personal time - me and her ... bitch thinks I can spend all my time with her? Nah, man.

Me:... that sucks... ? (I'm thinking personal time means sex - and we all know how I feel about discussing that)

Cabbie 2:  You get me!  Would you like a chip?  (At this point he turns around completely - mind you he's still driving).

Me:  Uh - no - I'm good... (I'm sure my eyes were popping out of my head).

Cabbie 2: Ok... my wife sucks.

This went on for quite a bit, and I was pretty happy when that ended - hopefully listening to him helped him sort out his problems... he seemed to have many.

Cabbie 3: The village is the new Sodom.

I had just finished coming back from Ithaca.  I was tired and just wanted to climb into a cab and go home.  I flagged one down.

Cabbie 3: Where are you going?

Me: My address here

Cabbie 3: OH WOW! I just dropped some lady in the area - I can give her her bag back.  This is great! 

Me:  yay... (I just wanted to go home and not be involved. but it was too late for that - my address alone had involved me.)

Cabbie:You must be a good person to succeed in life - you can't keep people's things. 

Me: ok, Do you know where this woman lives? Did you check the bag for an address?

Cabbie 3: I don't like looking through people things! (He seemed mad that I asked) I will leave it infront of her house or with a doorman - she will get it.  So are you Mexican or Ecuador?

Me: Um... I'm Peruvian... so neither I guess (really I'm not. my parents are - but I didn't want to explain that to him.)

Cabbie 3: Sometimes Ecuadors look like Mexicans... You know?

Me: Not really, but good to know.

(After some more babble - we managed to climb into some conversation about morality and living well because of that stupid purse- really he was just babbling and I nodded - until he dropped this gem).

Cabbie 3: I hate the village!

Me: Why? (I figured this had to be good)

Cabbie 3: You see men and men kissing.  Women and Women kissing.  They kiss infront of cops!  The cop cannot arrest them!  You cannot have a man kiss a man in front of cop - this country is all fucked up.  Crazy... a man kissing a man!

Me: Umm... yeah that's terrible.... (I was hoping this wouldn't turn into another Cabbie 1 situation)

Cabbie 3: They poke God in the eye!

He babbled on and on about this.  Eventually we made it to this old lady's house and she apparently lived on my street.  He doodled a note and ran out of the car (blocking traffic) and then he came back. "I stop meter here, but drive you home - good?"  "Yes, that would be great"

Though he was a little looney and got easily infuriated, he was an ok guy who bothered to return purses.  I figured he wasn't too bad - just a little over-zealous in his views.  The one thing that unites all these cabbies - is that they were not dangerous.  As foward, whiney or righteous they were - I never really felt for my life (except for when that one dude turned all the way around).  Really the lesson here is ALWAYS talk to cabbies - because you never know when they'll scare/entertain/bother/please you.

 JJRC