Drying Your Paws Without Wetting Them…

So yesterday was a mad dash back from the worksite, as we’re leaving for the Paris/London adventure today.  Landed at Burbank and, as usual, while I waited for my bag to arrive at the outdoor Southwest bag claim, I availed myself of the nearby ladies’ loo.

I’ve neve been able to make that damn paper towel dispenser work – nor has anyone I’ve ever seen (okay, maybe once or twice it’s grudgingly choked out a sliver of brown paper, but for the most part it stubbornly refuses to budge).  It’s one of those motion-sensor wave-your-hand-underneath and honestly, it can get quite amusing, some of the bizarre dances the women perform to the Bounty Gods to try to get the feckin’ thing to produce something with which they can wipe their mitts.

Especially since that bathroom is about as wide as your average seat pitch in coach.  Seriously.  That is the NARROWEST bathroom ever.

So, I’m washing the grubbies and lo and behold, a young janitor comes in.  AHA!

“‘Scuse me!”  I said, hands dripping.  “I can’t ever make the paper towel dispenser work.”

She tilted her head, looked quizzical and smiled.  Damn.  My high school Spanish sucks rocks.

I gestured, showing how, voila!  “No toalla.  Por que, por favor?”

Out came a stream of doctoral level Spanish.  Oh hell no.  I bit my lip,  However, while I cannot understand rapid, conversational Spanish, I do get body language.  This woman was trying not to bust up laughing.

Hopefully not at my ignorance…

She slowed it down for me.

”Los manos…no agua…o no trabajar.”

You gotta be kidding me.

She used her dry hands to show me how the rotten dispenser graciously presented her with a generous helping of paper towel.

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