Rant

All I wanted was to sidle up to the urinal and relieve myself of the five Miller Lites pounding at my bladder, but noooo--Manolo's standing there in his white shirt and fake bowtie, leering at me. See, when I'm done pissing and I wash my hands, he'll hand me a paper towel and hope I give him a dollar for the privilege. Gaaack! Screw bathroom attendants! Especially at rock clubs or concert venues. Since when did I go to a heavy metal show to feel like I'm taking a wizz at frigging Tavern on the Green? Sure, the restroom gents have their place--at a fancy restaurant, say, or an upscale titty bar--but this fake "job" has caught on so much that now it's pretty likely that in your neighborhood Denny's bathroom there's some tip-grubbing chimp standing sentinel with an array of perfumes, mints and cigarettes--and a prominently displayed basket full of $1 bills. Let me relieve myself without undue financial pressure!--Andrew Kiraly