no.41 - Pissa Pie

The other day, at a playground far from our home, my daughter suddenly needed to pee. Cambridge has many fine parks, but not one has a toilet. The common and popular solution to a full child bladder is to find a secluded corner, drop your child's pants and let them urinate in right there in the park.

I am sympathetic to this conundrum, but I don't approve of this popular solution. That spot that seems like a good place to hide is a good place to hide; which means it is exactly where the next kid to play hide and seek is going to hunker down in a wet mud of urine and, on a very unlucky day, feces.

So, rather than foul the park, I picked up my three-year-old and walked to Village Grill & Seafood, a pizza parlor doing a lazy business just before noon. I asked the woman behind the counter if she had a bathroom even though I know they must have a bathroom because where are they going to do their pooping? The park?

The woman carefully replied they have no public restroom.

I know I am expected to give up and shrug, as if fooled by this. But because I am who I am, I reworded my question.

"Yes, but do you have a bathroom?"

"We have no public bathroom." She said again, practiced, dispassionate, careful to include the word "public".

While this was going on, my daughter was listening, holding the contents of her bladder.

"What's she saying?" my girl asked, with an obvious interest in the outcome of this negotiation.

I looked at the woman for a sign that common human decency would kick in and she would give a three year old a break. Like many Greeks I have known, most of them relatives, there was a stubborn, almost strangely proud look on her face as if to say, "we gave the world democracy and now you want to use the toilet in my pizza parlor?"

I considered playing my Greek card, though my Greek is very poor and I could think of no logical way to work my name into the conversation. Besides, my grandfather's decision to leave Naxos should not be the golden key to the toilet.

"What's she saying?" My daughter asked again. My stubborn Mediterranean blood decided on what came out of my mouth next.

"She is saying she doesn't ever want us to shop here." I said and walked out the door.

And I never will - no matter what Ben Affleck may think of their pizza.

Across the street we found a convenience store that, despite having a neon pink "no public bathroom" sign taped prominently to the wall, still let us use their toilet. The woman behind that counter had a little shred of empathy left in her.

Did I buy something on the way out? You bet I did. And now I will go out of my way to buy a thing or two there when I can.