Sitting in the classroom
Thinking it's a drag
Listening to the teacher rap
Just ain't my bag
I saw this sign a few days ago on the door of the women's room in the building where my dentist has his office:
Here's a picture of the door of the men's room that is adjacent to that women's room:
There was obviously no need for a sign on the men's room door because men always play by the rules! So why can't women play by the rules, too?
Actually, men don't always play by the rules -- as is demonstrated by this sign, which I saw in the bathroom at a downtown lunch spot I recently visited:
Wanna take a guess whether a man or a woman runs that place?
Here's the sign from the ice and water dispenser at that same lunch spot:
Here's the sign from the ice and water dispenser at that same lunch spot:
Let's forget the errant apostrophe and focus on the next line: "Put your cup in your hand."
When instructing someone how to get ice or water from a dispenser, is it really necessary to start out by telling him to "[p]ut your cup in your hand"?
Based on the two pieces of evidence available to us -- the "tinkle" sign in the bathroom and this sign, I think it's safe to say that not only is the restaurant run by a woman, but also that this restaurant is run by a woman whose experience with men has taught her that there is nothing that a man can't screw up.
Can you imagine being that woman's child? Or husband, for that matter -- who might as well be one of her children because that is the way she treats him. I guarantee to you that she has trained him to sit down when he "tinkles" so he doesn't make a mess with that nasty you-know-what of his.
Anyway, let's get back to the first sign above -- the one about smoking in the ladies room.
I frankly have a deep-seated distaste for smoking and smokers. I'm not sure where that distaste came from, but it is very strong indeed.
When instructing someone how to get ice or water from a dispenser, is it really necessary to start out by telling him to "[p]ut your cup in your hand"?
Based on the two pieces of evidence available to us -- the "tinkle" sign in the bathroom and this sign, I think it's safe to say that not only is the restaurant run by a woman, but also that this restaurant is run by a woman whose experience with men has taught her that there is nothing that a man can't screw up.
Can you imagine being that woman's child? Or husband, for that matter -- who might as well be one of her children because that is the way she treats him. I guarantee to you that she has trained him to sit down when he "tinkles" so he doesn't make a mess with that nasty you-know-what of his.
Anyway, let's get back to the first sign above -- the one about smoking in the ladies room.
I frankly have a deep-seated distaste for smoking and smokers. I'm not sure where that distaste came from, but it is very strong indeed.
I have never smoked a cigarette in my life, and I never will -- it grosses me out just to think about it. (FYI, I'm not a fan of chewing gum either.)
Not smoking was a very profitable strategy for me to follow when I was in high school. When I was 16, my father promised to buy me a new car if I maintained my grades and didn't smoke or drink until I graduated from high school.
I'm not sure he really intended his promise to be taken seriously. But I remembered it and took it very seriously. And to give my father the credit he deserves, he came through with a shiny new 1970 Olds Cutlass Supreme two-door coupe with a vinyl top and a 350-cubic inch V-8 engine (which came standard).
NOTE: That car served me well for ten years, until I was transferred to the San Francisco office of the federal agency that employed me. I left the car with the woman who later became my wife, and she promptly totaled it. To be fair, she wasn't in the car when it was totaled -- some drunk plowed into it in the middle of the night while it was innocently parked on a Washington, DC street. To be precise, it was parked in front of the house where my bride-to-be was visiting a gentleman friend. (I didn't mind the gentleman friend so much, but I did miss that car.)
I not only didn't smoke, but also was turned off by women who did. I dated very few women who were smokers. Of course, I dated very few women who weren't smokers.
So all else being equal, I avoided women who smoked. But all else is almost never equal, is it?
If I had sat down and listed the criteria that mattered most to me in choosing a lady friend, whether she smoked or didn't smoke was a significant factor. In fact, it may have been #2 in significance.
"Smokin' in the Boys Room" was a #3 hit for Brownsville Station, an Ann Arbor, Michigan band that released it on its third studio album, Yeah!, in 1973.
The song was co-written and sung by the late Michael "Cub" Koda, who was once described by author Stephen King as “America’s greatest houserocker" -- whatever the hell that means.
P. J. Soles and Dey Young |
"Smokin' in the Boys Room" was featured in the fabulous Rock 'n' Roll High School, which starred the adorable P. J. Soles as a Ramones-loving bad girl, the adorable Dey Young as a Vince Van Patten-loving good girl, and the 100% unadorable former child star (and younger brother of director Ron Howard), Clint Howard.
If you ever want to give a small child nightmares, just set him down in front of a computer and show him photos of Clint Howard:
Clint Howard has acted in some real stinkers, but may have reached the nadir of his career when he portrayed a cross-dressing man named "Nipples" in the truly execrable 2000 Adam Sandler movie, Little Nicky:
A cover of "Smokin' in the Boys Room" was a hit for Mötley Crüe in 1985. When Koda died in 2000, his father told a reporter that his son liked Mötley Crüe's cover version just fine because “[h]e made more money off Mötley Crüe that he did off Brownsville Station." (It was as true then as it is today: money talks, and you-know-what walks.)
Brownsville Station's last single to chart was titled "Martian Boogie." It's even worse than the title sounds.
Here's "Smokin' in the Boys Room":
Click below to buy the song from Amazon:
No comments:
Post a Comment