Kramer's magical token

hate to add another bathroom story. I assure you I am not a coprophiliac (real term, check it out at: http://www.rr1.net/users/wrhardesty/webdoc1.html).

Kramer's is a lovely bookstore/coffee house/restaurant on Connecticut Ave. right off of the fantabulous Dupont Circle (memo to me: spellcheck has no objections to "fantabulous", however it does not like "spellcheck"). It's where the love of literature, fine food, tasty desserts, and snobbery go hand in hand at a (moderately) affordable price.

Atmosphere – lovely. Food – A-OK. Service – delightful. Bathroom situation – yeah, a bit militant.

I excused myself from the table and asked where the elusive bathroom hid itself. My server whipped out a dime-sized golden token that reminded me of my elementary days at the arcade ("but I don't wanna play Turtles, I like Rainbow Brite!" – how did my parents not know …).

I was told to follow the signs up to the bathroom where I would exchange my token for the illustrious opportunity to relieve myself in their facilities. Naturally, I was looking forward to a bathroom experience that merited a token, a golden one no less.

After climbing 4 flights of stairs, taking the third right and the following left, and finally a summersault, I came upon the only-those-tokened-shall-pass door to the men's room. A heavy Alcatraz-style bolt could only be undone by my magical token (why does this feel like The Secret Garden?).

The bathroom was skanknasty. The faucet dribbled enough water to wet a freckle, and the blowdryer panted weakly like a dying dog. I don't think I've been that disappointed since Crystal Pepsi.

But three glasses of water later, there I was requesting another golden token.

In attempting to close this blog, the following free association went through my head: golden token, golden ticket, Willy Wonka, Free Willy – and all related to the bathroom (you figure it out).