So late last week we were driving north through Los Angeles to Santa Barbara, California. On the way we stopped off at a "Souplanation" in a strip mall in Camarillo.
Because several of the stores and restaurants in that mall had been closed and shuttered (which we couldn't see from the freeway when we initially got off at that exit), we ended up having to choose between a Del Taco and a Souplantation. That's like being a guy in a bar at 1 AM whose left to choose between, on the one hand, the skinny girl with weird hair who, despite the severe acne, looks pretty hot in that jeans mini skirt and, on the other hand, the heavy set girl in the knit turtleneck who would be pretty cute if she lost 20 pounds.
Anyway, Souplanation it was. In we went.
I hadn't been to one in years. But I always liked their home made chicken noodle soup. And I was happy that it was just the same this time. Though they had switched from larger white soup bowls to much smaller, red ones. (Perhaps under the sway of "bad girlfriend" Sweet Tomatoes?)
Anyway, having finished eating, I saunter into the bathroom before getting back in the car to continue our drive north to Santa Barbara. I notice as I walk in there that, not only is the mens' room much smaller than I expected, but the door to the lone stall is also closed. Uh oh. "I wonder if there's anyone in there," I think to myself in passing, obviously hoping that the answer is "no."
Sure enough, as I stand at the urinal, I get my answer. First I hear the sounds of an almost insane number of belts and clasps being undone. One. Two. Three. Four. "Four?" I think. "What in the world...." Then five. Six. Seven. Seven!?! Ok, either the guy in that stall just parachuted in there and is stuck, as if in a tree (maybe I should go get a knife and cut him down?), or he's held together with straps, like an old, overstuffed suitcase.
I don't want to risk the awkwardness of lingering there long enough to find out what's really going on, though. So before that stall door opens, I begin to fumble quickly to zip up my fly while almost simultaneously leaning toward the sink.
That's when it begins. The noise. That noise. A sloppy, wet....Well, you can probably guess. My baby daughter refers to a much more mild version as "bubbles poop." But this was much more violent, (angrier?) and louder than anything that might be called "bubbles poop." And, like the Terminator, it absolutely did not stop. It was like a bad "R" rated comedy. More than 10 seconds straight, easy. Maybe 20. I didnt think that a human beign contained that much water. What did that guy eat at Souplanation? Or, help me, was he an employee?
We'll never know, though, because that "noise" continued even as the swinging door was closing behind me as I fled back into the restaurant.
How do you dry your hands in 3 seconds while cringing? Now I know......