why it doesn't work
George Costanza: Don't we have a deal with the pigeons?
Jerry Seinfeld: Of course we have a deal: They get out of the way of our cars; we look the other way on the statue defecations.
I may be jinxed but for some reason the water taps in the public bathrooms don't like me. The agreement goes like this. I put my hands under, water comes out. I remove my hands the current stops. What could be easier? Only it doesn't work. They have this janitor standing behind the two way mirror. The minute I approach he goes into action. It all started when I went to the public loo in Munich, Germany many years ago. I swear I had no small change, so I sneaked out without leaving any service tip. I thought I got away Scots free but obviously not. The German janitor faxed my picture across the globe. I am nicknamed the bathroom bandit. I'm infamous. I might even be on Interpol's most wanted list.
Since then my public life has become hell. Every time I feel the urge and head to a public loo, they send in a buxom middle-aged female cleaner to monitor my activities. She invariably has to clean the urinal next to mine. I don't know about you, but I find it hard to pee (or urinate if we want to be polite) with some strange women watching. No, I don't think it's sexy. That is a boundary that I even keep from my wife. Then of course I need to wash my hands.
I've worked out a system to beat them there. I put my right hand under the nearest tap, then, when they are not looking, I charge with my left hand to the next available tap and wet it before any observers have time to act. All that remains is to use the electric dryer but I've yet to conquer that monster. No matter what I do, it fails to comply and stares at me silently in content, leaving me no choice but to do the famous Indian rain dance in an attempt to shake of as much water as possible.
Sometimes I feel it's not worth the effort. Maybe I can hold out for an hour or two. Right when elephants fly, or pigeons.
No, don't even get me started on pigeons.