BF David and I spent Saturday night in the West Village, culminating with a viewing of Gabrielle, a pretentious French film, at the IFC Center. If there's any doubt as to just how much of a keeper BF David is, he let me drag him to see both The Lake House (my reward for sitting through Superman Returns with him) and a pretentious French film. His turn to pick next.
After surviving the film's glacial pacing and tedious dialogue (Isabelle Huppert, how you let me down!), we looked for the restrooms before taking the subway back to my place.
"They're downstairs," one of the movie theater workers pointed the way. "However, there are people having sex in the ladies room," he looked at me apologetically, as if he was the one who put the salacious duo up to it, "I don't know if you'll want to go in there..."
I raised my eyebrows and looked all how dare people have sex in public and potentially impede my bathroom-going experience! Then, as soon as the theater clerk turned around, BF David and I booked it down the stairs. I giggled, eager to witness some of the action. I hurried down the hall, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
There were about six stalls in the bathroom, across from a row of sinks. As I walked in, a girl who just finished washing her hands was coming out. Her expression said, yup, there's really some sexual activity going on here, and I am deeply uncomfortable because of it.
The second stall was occupied by a couple, the woman clearly on her knees giving a blowjob to the man, who was sitting on the toilet seat. Mind you, these were the toilet stalls with the huge gaps between the door and floor and also between door and doorjamb, so not only did I get a quick peek at what was happening as I walked by, I saw enough to know that the woman was blonde, barefoot, and wearing a gypsy skirt. Not exactly discreet, these two.
I decided to give the aroused pair some privacy, so I chose a stall a few doors down. What I found hilarious was how they weren't trying to hide what they were doing at all. They made no attempt to muffle their soft groans and seemed completely lost in their lusty world.
While I was in my own stall, peeing and eavesdropping, a female theater clerk came in.
She stood a moment, the very picture of hesitation. The moaning continued.
"Are there two people in this stall?" asked Captain Obvious.
"Uh... yeah," the woman came up for air long enough to reply.
"Okay... well, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"In about two more minutes." A pause, then the heavy breathing resumed.
I exited my stall and washed my hands with slow precision. I didn't want to miss a second of this.
This is my favorite part of the whole scenario. The theater clerk actually waited a minute! She stood around awkwardly, fidgeting beside the paper towel dispenser. It wasn't until I was drying my hands (mind you, I was taking my sweet time here) that the clerk finally said,
"If you don't come out right now, I'm going to have to call security."
I went back upstairs and relayed the story to BF David.
"Do you want to stick around until they come upstairs?" he asked.
We pretended to look at film flyers until the duo came staggering up the stairs, looking trashy and trashed. They teetered over to the movie theater's adjoining bar/cafe, clearly at the point where another drink could hardly make much of a difference.
BF David and I left the theater, shaking our heads. Those guys were amateurs, we agreed. When we had sex in a public bathroom, we'd make sure it was somewhere with floor-to-ceiling doors. If you're going to do these things, might as well do them right.