Lost For Words
by John Brooke
He was an
older gentleman and first time MXN diplomat late
for a critical meeting at UNHQ. Rushing
across the echoing marble concourse he felt a
sudden urge to void his bladder.
The vast space
was a confusing maze of signs, elevators, office
doors, and hallways. He was desperate to find the
public washrooms.
A uniformed
Security Officer was on duty, he rushed to him
and asked directions. “¿Donde satisfaga son
los servicios públicos?” Seeing the
SO’s perplexed face, he summoned up a phase
from his meager english. “PISSR”
“Your ID?”
The diplomat pointed to his lapel badge. Hunched
over dancing a jig on one foot to the other. Brow
beaded with sweat, mouth contorted into a
grotesque grimace. Grabbing his crotch.
“Oh,
WYGGYGG. UGP need MR, PDQ. Cross to the WF ATM,
turn RH past the DWP, the EMA, and UNESCO, then
CC to the PWR.”
The diplomat
danced away, leaving a trail of shiny droplets on
the pristine floor.
Proud of his
ARK the SO ALOL said, “SNAFU” to a
fellow SO. “We best call UNDOS”.
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