Difficult, difficult, lemon, difficult.
It's not terribly difficult. If you find yourself standing outside a closed restaurant bathroom door, you only have to check the door knob to ascertain if a door is locked.
Jiggle the handle. Turn the knob. No give? You patiently wait.
Of course I am in this restaurant bathroom. Me. You've met me right? Inside a small room. Door locked. Paper towel in hand, about to do the whole turn the knob with a let's-not-touch-it-shut-up-I'm-not-a-germ-freak-I-just-want-to-eat-my-meal-with-clean-hands kinda way.
I'm trying my best to unlock the door and turn the nob, but the asshole (assuming) (correctly) the other side of the door, who has not read my first paragraph here, has been incessantly jiggling, turning, prying on the thing for what seems like a half hour now.
Finally I swing the door open. The woman, who should not have dyed her hair black at that age, nor have worn that shirt, but I fashionably digress, screams. I mean she SCREAMS screams. Halloween the 13th my leg is on fire screams!
In her attempt to burglarize the bathroom, she could not fathom the idea of someone actually being in there. Even after, a really hideous ghost, apparently, stated it was occupied a few times.
I jumped a foot in the air whilst demon screams were leaving her throat and said "Jaysus! You scared me!"
She felt this reply was the way to go: "I'm sorry AND I'll have you know that you need not call me Jesus!!"
As I stood there trying to comprehend what in the blue blazes she was on....Didn't matter, I have a blog now. Like a gift she was, a gift from not-Jesus.
Easy peazy lemon squeezy.
Jiggle the handle. Turn the knob. No give? You patiently wait.
Of course I am in this restaurant bathroom. Me. You've met me right? Inside a small room. Door locked. Paper towel in hand, about to do the whole turn the knob with a let's-not-touch-it-shut-up-I'm-not-a-germ-freak-I-just-want-to-eat-my-meal-with-clean-hands kinda way.
I'm trying my best to unlock the door and turn the nob, but the asshole (assuming) (correctly) the other side of the door, who has not read my first paragraph here, has been incessantly jiggling, turning, prying on the thing for what seems like a half hour now.
Finally I swing the door open. The woman, who should not have dyed her hair black at that age, nor have worn that shirt, but I fashionably digress, screams. I mean she SCREAMS screams. Halloween the 13th my leg is on fire screams!
In her attempt to burglarize the bathroom, she could not fathom the idea of someone actually being in there. Even after, a really hideous ghost, apparently, stated it was occupied a few times.
I jumped a foot in the air whilst demon screams were leaving her throat and said "Jaysus! You scared me!"
She felt this reply was the way to go: "I'm sorry AND I'll have you know that you need not call me Jesus!!"
As I stood there trying to comprehend what in the blue blazes she was on....Didn't matter, I have a blog now. Like a gift she was, a gift from not-Jesus.
Easy peazy lemon squeezy.
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