Potty mouths

The other day I was running late to meet a friend, and she called to ask where I was.

"I just left my apartment," I said, while sitting on my couch, jamming on my shoe.

"You just left?" she asked, annoyed. "Where are you?"

"Um, I just passed the Safeway."

For some reason, people like to know the precise location of the person on the other end of the cell phone call. Unfortunately, that person always seems to lie. I'm not just talking about myself. The other day, I saw a guy emerge from the Dupont Circle metro and say he was "three blocks" from the zoo. This is a bad strategy. How is he going to explain his pace of fifteen minutes per block when he gets to the zoo 45 minutes later? At least my lie was only one block long.

Another disturbing cell phone trend I have noticed: People who talk on their phones in public bathrooms. Surely the echoey acoustics and water sounds are a give-away. The other day when I was in the Busboys and Poets bathroom, I overheard a woman having an intense cell-phone conversation with her depressed friend. I needed to flush, but it felt rude.

Last summer, I accidentally joined in such a conversation. My band was getting ready to play a show, and I couldn't find the woman's restroom. I had only a few minutes before sound-check, so I ducked into the men's bathroom, assuming I'd be safe because the club wasn't open to the public yet. I ducked into a stall, and the guy in the adjacent one said "Hello?"

"Hello!" I said brightly, trying to mask my guilt.

Then the guy proceeded to make plans with his friend to meet up later. I hightailed it out of there, hands unwashed.