Would you let this man into your home? This shambling, drunken devil with a shoulder bag and little sense of his own environs? If you would, thank you.
If this rings a bell, you were a partygoer in an estate far away from anywhere and you saw me walking down the street, in my cups, and you saw me stop and ask if I could use your jacks.
Dying for a piss, y'see, dying for a throne in a stranger's townhouse.
The owner took sympathy on me and led me inside. He stood sentry outside with his wife or his girlfriend and a couple of their friends, one voice asking another...
"Who the fuck is that? Who's in the toilet?"
"I don't know, some fella, don't know where he came out of."
"Jesus. You wouldn't see me letting a stranger into my house."
"Ah Siobhán, he seems grand, he's wearing glasses for fuck's sake."
"Lots of serial killers wear glasses. What if he legs it off with the soap?"
"I dunno, seems pretty clean to me. I don't think he's going to rob the soap. The mirror, maybe."
The owner: "Nah, it's stuck to the wall, sure."
I was, of course, pissing away with the laughter and the nightful of stout and lager beer. Eventually I finished up, stole just a smudge of soap (lavender) and flushed. I checked the fly and opened the door to find five round strangers staring at me, blushing back at them.
"Thanks folks, I, eh, I appreciate it. Eh, I, ehm, I like your soap. Have a good night."
Manners make a man.