One of my colleagues left the company I work for today, so in time honoured tradition a group of us descended on a local hostelry for a few drinks to celebrate, or commiserate, or whatever it is you do when someone leaves.
Well, when I say hostelry, and let's face it, who does say hostelry these days, I mean swanky, wanky cocktail bar in the vicinity of Fenchurch Street that serves all manner of exotically titled beverages that no sane person should ever be seen ordering, let alone drinking.
In the spirit of the evening, however, I'm prepared to indulge such frippery, mainly because they also serve pints of Guinness, which is much more suited to my real ale palatte.
Inevitably I have to visit the Gentlemen's, and this is where I'm suddenly reminded of one of life's peculiar practices that, frankly, I've never been able to fathom.
Lurking in the conveniences is a smartly dressed man with a selection of sweets, chocolates and various toiletries. Now, aside from the fact that it must be a soul destroying existence spending much of your working life in the gents, it begs the question why, when all I want to do is recycle the last couple of pints, wash and dry my hands, and proceed to refill my bladder once more, would I be in the least bit interested in a small plastic bottle of aftershave, a perfumed soap, or a Twix!
I realise that everybody needs to make a living, but (and call me old fashioned) this is tantamount to emotional blackmail. Here I am, having performed one of the most intimate functions of the human body, which may or may not have been observed by my friend at the sink, but for the priviledge of performing the basic sanitary function of washing my hands, thus preventing everybody else I will touch this evening from, effectively, touching my manhood, I am effectively being placed on some huge guilt trip if I don't give this guy some money (and I'm guessing he's not going to be happy with ten pence) to hand me a towel which I'm perfectly capable of doing myself, and then offering to sell me some beauty products and an item or two of confectionary to take back to the bar!
I'm sad to report that I took the cowards way out and fled the bathroom without washing, so if I happened to shake your hand this evening, I'm sorry!
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