Tagebuch: October 2007
I had just gotten off of work at the Messezentrum, where I had been serving drinks to masses of cardiologists in town for a convention. It was 21:00 on a Saturday night, and so a few colleagues and I decided that the best way to spend our hard-earned cash was on a couple of drinks at some spot near by. After short stints at the Schweitzerhaus and the Prater, we ended up at Manolo’s, a quaint little Spanish bar specialising in Tequila, situated next to the Parliament.
We were enjoying music from the Gypsy Kings, the comfortable atmosphere, and the free shots from the cute waiter (we especially like those) when nature called.
Imagine my surprise when I opened the door to the ladies’ room and there, plunked between the wall of stalls and a set of well-lit mirrors, stood a shiny, fully functional black-lacquer piano! Having finished the necessities and after a quick look around to assure myself that I was alone, I rather ungracefully took a seat at the keyboard, and with a huge grin on my face, started to play. What came out was an absurd remix all my own -- of Fuer Elise and Mozart’s Turkish March, and…. It was great: all alone with my fantasies. Who could hear me over the loud music at the bar? I started to compose lyrics, about Tequila and toilet paper…
When, suddenly, I heard someone flush in the second stall! Letting out a squeal, I jumped to my feet and fled the bathroom, before I was forced to witness my involuntary audience exiting the stall. I made my way back to our table, sat down and pretended nothing had happened.
The moral of the story: Thou shalt not act upon every wayward impulse when in thy cups. Or better, at least make sure there are no witnesses.