Schmoooth

I saw a truly wonderful thing this week and it gave me some hope for the males of the species. The gentleman came in on a typically quiet weeknight. I can't imagine he'll have had work the next day as he was doing quite well for himself when he rolled through our doors. He seemed to have come straight from work or maybe he just dressed like that to impress the ladies, shirt, tie, suit-type trousers and proper shoes. He found himself a space at the bar and that was the last I saw of him for a few hours.

A little while later I get a call to meet with a member of the barstaff outside the ladies. I don't like going into the ladies but this one warranted it. I knock loudly on the cubicle I was directed to and let them know in my "I'm sure you can hear me" voice to get the door open and come out. No noise, no shuffling, and a pair of gent's heels suggesting he was standing with his back to the door. Out comes the magic door opening device and with a little application of my bulk, the door opened. To my surprise this smart gent has left his post at the bar obviously having had success and was now trousers open being fellated apparently oblivious to my presence. That was until the door moving sent him tumbling forward, almost cracking his head off the cistern. The girl providing the entertainment regained her dignity swiftly, pulled her hair straight and then scrambling to her feet, legged it. Straight down the stairs and through the front door according to the radio calls.

He however regained his balance, tucked himself away, straightened his tie and unsurprised at being invited to leave, walked to the sink, washed his hands, slicked his hair and walked calmly and pleasantly to the door. It wasn't the patience and acceptance of his departure or the attention to hygiene and presentation. No it was the patch of colourful vomit down the front of his trousers that he seemed oblivious to that wins him the schmoooth accolade.