Tuesday, 14 March 2017

Pop Up Pissoirs and Talking Toilets

It seems that the Gold Coast Council in it's wisdom and 'It's someone else's money' attitude approved the erection of some Pop Up Pissoir in Surfers Paradise. Yeh that's literally our Council Rates money flowing right down the shitter, or the pisser, or quite possibly both.

So apparently this is the way forward, because men it seems can't be relied upon to piss in the normal facilities. Now we need to provide some stinking pop-up in public, so they can whip it out and flash it all about when they are pissed as maggots, and this needs to be right out in the street, in the middle of the Glitter Strip, that is Surfers Paradise. Like dogs they can be, going for the longest smelliest up the wall the furtherest piss. Nice huh? Classy? I suppose we can all now stop pretending Surfers Paradise streets are paved with gold and breath a sigh of relief that beer soaked piss will no longer be splashed liberally over the paving, unless of course you are walking more than a few metres away from the new stainless erection.

Yeh it's a sign of the times. But where's the equality? Why not a pop up loo for the ladies? And if women want to don a pair of thick rubber gloves, like the ones you might use to clean other folks' bogs and exercise some great core muscle strength, then are they allowed to drop 'em and just perch on the trough, or do they need to use those new fangled pee directors which are out now so 'women can piss like a man'?

In any case, I don't fancy wandering into the piss zone for a look see and a sniff anytime soon.

Nah, instead I'll take the roadie about an hour south to Byron Bay and have a little scout around there for the morning. I don't think they have pop-up dunnies, even though it is a well worn hang out for youngsters on the drink and on the pull.

Our flags on the pontoon are faded and frayed - yeh I know, what a First World problem and we usually head to Byron for replacements, cos we know they always have 'em, so yesterday was the Flag Day.

So there was the all sorts rubbing along together, the $1000 ripped up to the whatsit designer shorts swinging the innocuous brown bag from some other designer shop, wandering passed the junkies squatting in the gutter having a quick bite to eat before they head home to bed. It's an interesting place that I have written about before. I like it but I don't want to live there.

Yesterday was not a good day meds wise. I should have known something was afoot or elsewhere as I had spent the early morning popping into the loo, but it's remarkable what you can ignore when you have a plan.

Our arrival saw me directing Stevie up the main street in search of a loo. I didn't have time to scope out a pub or a cafe, it need to be out and proud, like a Mardi Gras marcher. And there it was in all it's Mission Brown ordinariness next to the Bus Stop dumping off and picking up young folk from all around the world.

Only it wasn't ordinary at all.

The doors were electronic, and if the wee room was empty, then the doors stop open. Welcome to Byron Bay huh? And so I popped inside and read the instructions about the lock and pushed a button and bugger me if the loo didn't start up a conversation. It told me I had 10 minutes to do my business and that it would give me a warning chat when I only had one minute left and if I was still there pants slopping up the liquid all over the floor when time was up, it'd show me, by flinging open the door leaving me red faced and bare arsed.

I was quick, as quick as I could be at any rate.

And not much later, I was back there again. Bugger Bugger and shit.

I did not feel well.

I sat feeling a bit sorry for myself, I might have even had a little eye wash.

When all of a sudden the fucking loo started talking to me again.  'No Movement has been detected' What? Well that was wrong, Plenty had been going on. And then it said something about thinking that something might have malfunctioned and I thought, 'You are right about that', and then it said that if there was anyone in there they should move around a bit.

Oh fuck! I was sitting there having a little weep amid a terrible stink, but I started waving my arms around like a maniac in case the fucking loo decided to open the doors and all those folk just off the bus got a glimpse of more than they expected. And then I wondered how long I had left. As if things weren't bad enough, now I could feel a panic attack coming on. I had to get outta there. Farkkkkk.

It was a blessed relief to stop at the MaccieDs loos near the Crematorium just south of Tweed Heads. Clean and new and normal.

Why mess with a classic I say.

No comments:

Post a Comment