Crapblogging has fallen on hard times, methinks. For that matter, blogging has fallen on hard times. Rather than having to maintain a blog and earn a readership in the wilds of the open Internet, people
Hell, the word “blog” sounds like an excretory experience.
On Farcebook, one tends to be more circumspect. Which is why I’m writing this on my blog. Which I will most likely link to my Farcebook page, so who am I kidding, anyway?
Anyway, this is a true story, and it is more an observation on just how damned inconsiderate people can be in the Age of Portable Electronica than it is a crapblogging post...
We begin in one of the local eateries, where Dee and I are meeting a friend of long standing - technically, the daughter of a friend of long standing - for lunch. And as we wait for said friend to arrive, I hear the Call of Nature. It is not a subtle whisper: rather, it is a clarion call of the sort that requires immediate attention.
I carefully make my way to an all-too-distant restroom, only to discover that the sole stall is occupied. OK, I can handle this. I’ve got muscles in all the right places.
A few minutes go by, and I am becoming, ah, err, a bit impatient. And that’s when I hear the bippity-boop of a smartphone coming from the stall.
Son of a bitch!
I wait another minute. Bippity-boop!
And now I do something I have never had to do in all the years I have walked the planet. I knock on the stall door. Once. Twice.
“Oh, sorry!” And now the stall’s occupant scrambles to, as they say, finish the job.
My comment? “Thanks - another minute and I might have had to shit in the urinal.”
These fucking kids and their smartphones, am I right?