The blathering idiot had never stopped to read the sign until Xenia asked him about it. They were in a restaurant. One that she had selected and he had taken her to in order to help out his on-again, off-again girl friend Zoey. He was doing this to try to get back into her good graces.
But Xenia’s question was proving hard to answer. Maybe too hard. He stood in the rest room, hands over the sink, waiting for an answer, or even somebody to ask. But for ten minutes now nobody came in the rest room. No employee even bothered to poke his head in.
So, all he could do was stand, bent over the sink, hands under the dripping faucet, back twinging, and read the sign next to the mirror over and over and over again:
Employees must wash hands
Sooner or later one of them had to come in, and at that moment, he would make that person wash his hands and then he would return to finish supper with Xenia, and he would never come to this restaurant ever again, particularly if he had to tip the employee for this slow service.
[Editor’s note: other blathering idiot “adventures” available by clicking on the “blathering idiot” tag below.]
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