We're pathologically social. We're professional leisurists. We're burrito lovers, bar flies, art whores and music nerds. We dish the good dirt, and we'll risk a parking ticket for a cheap sample sale. Sometimes, we blog drunk.
Dr. Ward's advice for the day:
How to escape a life sentence in a public toilet
Ohhhhh, dear.
The other night was an eventful one, with a stop at the lovely and thirst-quenching Broadway Bar for little Metromix-sponsored mingling/free beer. On the way home, my comrade Gemini and I were thisclose to stopping by the Swink Magazine event, but passing a sketched out Mexican fishmonger, we decided to stop in for some shrimp tacos.
Heading to the ladies room to warsh me hands, I dug around my purse for one shiny quarter, necessary to gain entry. But upon leaving the restroom, I encountered the following door hardware.
Please note the brassy stump, and lack of "knob." I was locked in the public toilet of a fish shack.
My first instincts (cursing, doubting the existence of God) soon gave way to some desperate fist pounding, a pathetic yelp, and then texting the following S.O.S. to comrade Gemini, who was outside sipping a horchata or something:
Let's just say, the good fella had a quarter.
Miss Alie Ward
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