There is an establishment that has specials for $3.99 and beer for $1.99 and is quite near to where I live. After receiving a paycheck from my work on Nurse Jackie, I felt this modest treat would be acceptable in these tough economic times. I had just returned from New York to register at another casting agency and felt that it was of utmost importance to wash my hands. The trains and subways are just loaded with filth.
Upon entering, I bolted straight to the restroom. Before hand washing, I also needed to relieve myself. This is not me giving too much information but an essential element to my story. At one urinal was a dwarf like man who was also an employee. Employees of restaurants have to pee too, this I understand with clarity. It was once that I stood at the urinal next to him that the horrors ensued.
There were no dividers between the urinals, you see. This is fine as typical male etiquette is to stare straight ahead and conduct your business. You never look over, even if talking to a friend. It's best to to stand tall, look straight on and be stoic, not a hint of expression must cross your face. This is not taught, it is almost instinctual. It is the way of us men folk. However this unwritten rule fell by the wayside when I heard sound of fabric flapping about along with some form of black mass waving in my peripheral vision. I could have avoided looking had it just been once but the movements seemed far too big for such a small man to be displaying and I don't mean his anatomy. It was like a parachute deploying.
I look over at our short employee friend, discretely of course. He is flapping his black apron around which is causing it to land in the urinal. Perhaps the height disadvantage was at play as he did not have to so much aim down as straight on. Again, more flapping and in and out of the urinal goes the apron. Realizing this man could be handling my food later, I became very ill at ease. I felt my stomach turning and the blood rushing out of my head. I debated if I should stay or go. I washed my hands and went to the bar area.
A stroke of genius passed over me. I would buy a cheap drink, take advantage of the free popcorn and observe our diminutive friend enter the kitchen and see if he was a food handler. There is a massive open window that gave me full view of the kitchen and I could watch the food preparation like a hawk. The diminutive staffer entered that kitchen and then vanished. Not because he was a ghost, but the window was situated too high for me to see him. Only people of normal height could be seen! Damn it all!!! I thought of saying something to the bartender but didn't want to cause a stir. My mind was flooded with horrors as I saw all of the other employees wearing aprons. What if they did the same thing as our little friend come restroom time? I held off ordering food and decided to finish the beer and leave when suddenly, out came our apron dipping friend, dressed in civilian clothes. His shift was over. I could eat!!!
Overall I enjoyed my meal, the apron thing still bothered me. I would never be able to look at one in the same way again until I saw a particular waitress. Red hair, accent that was either Scottish or Irish, difficult to tell over the noise. An accent and real red hair, not dyed. Two factors that make me wobbly in the knees suddenly came into play. The fires that ignited within me were soon untenable. I imagined her with to large foaming beers in each hand, the apron, and nothing else.
Apron phobia cured.
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