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I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else My Profile
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I felt like I was in London again last night. It was Lil Red’s birthday (Happy Birthday lady :-) )so we thought we’d all go for drinks and get wasted on 4. We went to various places and ended up in The Priory, Aberdeen’s wannabe London bar/club. I was shocked when I entered the toilet to see a member of staff grinning quite horrificly at us as she arranged her toiletries for public use. She was a toilet attendant! In Aberdeen! Aberdonians are known as ultra grippy types so why they think we deserve someone to mop us up and make us smell good is beyond me. I tried to avoid Miss Sickly Happy’s gaze as I left the cubicle so I wouldn’t have to use any of the services on offer (perfume, gum, soap, towels and friendly chat, etc) and have to tip her anything as I do live up to the Aberdonian stereotype. I don’t wanna have to hold my pee in for fear of having to ‘tip’ everytime I gotta let it go. I wanna pee safe in the knowledge that I can dry my own hands and wipe my own fanny. I made a run for the hand dryer and was happily drying my hands unaided when a manky over used towel was thrust in my face and I was good as ordered to use it. The attendant had only 2 towels so god knows how many people had already used it and god knows how many diseases I had picked up from that obligatory wipe. I wasn’t gonna tip her for that. I thought I’d tip her had she gone into the toilet before me and wiped the seat clean but apparently her job description didn’t stretch that far. Lil Red grabbed a pile of gum on the way out and we guiltily ran away like school kids stealing penny sweets. The attendant thought we just didn’t get it. But we knew that the services of this wide smiled teenager were not supposedto be free but unless you give me a top rate club where music is divine, ladies are more divine and all hot lesbos then there’s no way I will ever pay to use a filthy towel in Aberdeen. It’s sick. The only place I have ever seen such pampering is in gay bars in London. The boys get them everywhere but I only came across one in the ladies toilet and that was in Mantos – a pretty boy bar where the boys are prim and the fag hags are everywhere. Here I treated myself to a spray of Jean Paul for old time’s sake as well as some facial moisturiser to conceal the hideous colour of red I’d gone having drank too much once again.
I didn’t go back to the toilet last night after that. Despite wanting to say 'fuck you Happy Lady and your stinky cosmetics' and pee without paying a pound I really didn't want to hear her grating voice ever again. And I knew that was I to use the towel once more I'd catch scabies or something far worse. Aberdeen please get a grip. You can try so hard to be trendy but unless you change half the ned-ish inhabitants and their pathetic attitudes you are in no way ready for toilet attendants. It’s a money loser and the perfumes sucked. I wanted to go into the guys toilets so I could spray on a bit of testosterone but I wasn’t allowed because I pee squint when standing up. The night was swell and prior to getting into a taxi I proceeded to batter Lesbo Bob who removed her offensive shoes and smacked me round the head 4 times with the bricks, leaving me quite disfigured. Bobby, wear smaller less heavy shoes. And so I go to spend Friday night with many many ladies. It’s just a case of selecting which to go to first. Britney Wannabe 
10/25/2002 07:45:00 PM
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Adventures of Charmin |
