Solve The Riddle Or You'll Be Standing In A Puddle

Sydney Morning Herald

Wednesday December 14, 2005

Greg Buxton

MAYBE signs reading "Ladies" and "Gentlemen" are of no help to the likes of Paris Hilton and Russell Crowe, to whom neither label can reasonably be applied. And maybe "Male" and "Female" resonate too much of year 7 biology lessons to grace the toilet doors of Sydney's coolest establishments.

Coloured figures could work, but stand at a busy intersection at lunchtime and you realise how insidious colour blindness is in Sydney.

So the solution adopted by the latest top-notch nosheries involves arcane symbols usually seen only when attempting to push the wing-dings character set to its limit.

Why should relieving oneself require more mental gymnastics than attempting a super-sudoku while watching Memento for the first time?

It's downright irresponsible to let people drink and drive, so why is there no widespread condemnation for forcing the inebriated to make a choice requiring trains of thought far beyond that needed to operate a simple vehicle?

It used to be that you might have to step around poor lost souls, stained, reeking and muttering, while entering or leaving your favourite watering hole. Not any more. You now stumble over them in the anteroom to the toilets. Sure, they're well-dressed - but they're curled in a ball and sobbing gently, unable to determine whether their gender is best represented by a leaping starfish or a spinning Christmas tree.

Case in point: confused patrons at the latest Waterloo hot-spot face a choice of doors identified only by Rorschach ink blots. (Hint: the sword-wielding alpaca is clearly pregnant.) Assuming you choose correctly, you'd think that you would be rewarded with a few moments of relative peace.

Unfortunately not. Ingenious use of mirrors, highly polished surfaces, recessed handles and invisible taps lead only to bewilderment.

At a recent lunch I congratulated myself for having chosen the correct door and receptacle. But my back-patting was interrupted by a gentle and persistent back-tapping. Upon turning around, I was politely informed: "This is the kitchen. It's all right, because we ran out of stock a short time ago and I believe that's your risotto you're topping up. I just wanted to remind you it needs to be stirred constantly."

I fear Sydneysiders are unwitting participants in a diabolical variant of the Monty Hall dilemma. The original involved a game-show choice of three doors, behind one of which is a car and behind the other two are goats.

The new version involves lavatory doors, four glasses of wine (yours) and urinals mounted on wheels. It doesn't matter which door you pick, because the cast of every TV renovation show is working tirelessly behind the scenes to make sure it's always the wrong one.

My favourite starfish suit is back from the drycleaners, so I'm off for a bite to eat. But I think I might use the facilities here first, just to be safe.

Readers are invited to apply wit to anything that makes the blood boil. Send 600 words, with day and evening phone numbers, to heckler@smh.com.au. Submissions may be edited and published on the internet.

© 2005 Sydney Morning Herald

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