1293 Facility

The other day I was in a facility. I guess they call restrooms “facilities” because they facilitate something. In this case the removal of organic waste.
Facility is a better euphemism in many ways than the term restroom. Restroom has always seemed a little vague to me. As if the act of excretion is somehow bound up with the idea of exhaustion.
I’m often quite energetic when I have to go, and resting is the furthest thing from my mind.
Anyhow, when I went into the restroom I saw an individual who was doing his darndest to shuck all his biking leathers so he could get to his business. And he wasn’t doing so with any facility.
It had been a sunny and hot day, so all the roads were filled with as many bikers as the waterways were filled with boaters. Sun being rare here in the great northwest, when it hits we indulge in our expensive toys to the max.
It’s always seemed unfortunate to me that when it’s 90 degrees out, you don a ton of stifling hot leather so you can hit the roads in your, um, open-air two-wheeler.
Seems counterproductive somehow.
Still, once you’ve, like me, suffered major road rash from crashing motorcycles, it’s worth it to put up with the hot.
But the poor guy in the restroom was having trouble with all the buckles and zippers, and hands numb from holding handlebars wasn’t helping.
He didn’t look too restful.
So the sign on the only unoccupied stall was even more disheartening to him. It said, “Temporarily Out of Order.” And that’s a pretty weird sign when you think of it. Why not just “Out of Order?”
Temporarily? Should I wait?
Maybe I’ll rest a little, while I do...
America, ya gotta love it.