I am lurking in a London internet cafe because it's raining and nothing else will open till noon, apparently, not even Starbucks (and I have not yet had my morning caffeine fix.) When I left the hotel this morning the sky was so forbiddingly gray that I asked at the front desk if they knew the weather forecast, and they laughed at me. There is no telling with London, they said. (This computer won't do double quotes.) Could be rain, could be shine, could be both twelve times in half an hour. There is no way to know.
I set off,and it immediately began to rain. It looks like I will be having a nice relaxing day today before the big madness of the next week (two days of interviews, one day in the air, three days teaching at a workshop in Arizona-- Will and Emma, e-mail me so we can get together!) whether I planned one or not.
I forgot to mention that in Venice, at the frog fish tale restaurant, I accidentally set off the fire alarm while attempting to flush the toilet. Like keyboards, toilets do not appear to have standardized flushes. Some are motion activated, some are pull-handles, some are pull-chains, some are white push-things on the wall cunningly painted to blend in with the wall, some are tiny white buttons on the toilet likewise cunningly painted, etc. So when I looked around for the button and didn't see one, I noticed a chain hanging from the water tank, with a paper tag attached with an inscription faded into illegibility, but which I assumed meant, "pull to flush" in Italian. (Just figured out that you can do quotes if you hit the key reading @, and vice versa.)
I pulled the chain.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEE! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
A great commotion began outside as well as inside. I had barely begun to search for the alarm turn-off when someone began pounding on the door. Clutching my pants to myself (there were no laundry facilities in Venice, so I was wearing the drawstring gi-pants I'd brought in case I got a chance to train as a gladiator, and a wild print shirt I bought at the Rome flea market, and looked like a clown), I opened the door, figuring that whoever was there would be more likely than me to be able to turn it off.
The waitress hit some invisible button, and the alarm shut off. She pointed to the tag. Peering closely, i saw that it actually said, "Alarm."
"Er... perdone," I said, wondering if that was even a word.
The waitress kindly shut the door on me and my pants. The flush button proved to be a very small and cleverly camouflaged one on the back of the toilet.
Incidentally, that same day I twice failed to successfully lock the toilet door, and had people open it when I was inside. As I said to Oyce, trying to manage plumbing in Europe makes me feel like a lab rat.
I set off,and it immediately began to rain. It looks like I will be having a nice relaxing day today before the big madness of the next week (two days of interviews, one day in the air, three days teaching at a workshop in Arizona-- Will and Emma, e-mail me so we can get together!) whether I planned one or not.
I forgot to mention that in Venice, at the frog fish tale restaurant, I accidentally set off the fire alarm while attempting to flush the toilet. Like keyboards, toilets do not appear to have standardized flushes. Some are motion activated, some are pull-handles, some are pull-chains, some are white push-things on the wall cunningly painted to blend in with the wall, some are tiny white buttons on the toilet likewise cunningly painted, etc. So when I looked around for the button and didn't see one, I noticed a chain hanging from the water tank, with a paper tag attached with an inscription faded into illegibility, but which I assumed meant, "pull to flush" in Italian. (Just figured out that you can do quotes if you hit the key reading @, and vice versa.)
I pulled the chain.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEE! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
A great commotion began outside as well as inside. I had barely begun to search for the alarm turn-off when someone began pounding on the door. Clutching my pants to myself (there were no laundry facilities in Venice, so I was wearing the drawstring gi-pants I'd brought in case I got a chance to train as a gladiator, and a wild print shirt I bought at the Rome flea market, and looked like a clown), I opened the door, figuring that whoever was there would be more likely than me to be able to turn it off.
The waitress hit some invisible button, and the alarm shut off. She pointed to the tag. Peering closely, i saw that it actually said, "Alarm."
"Er... perdone," I said, wondering if that was even a word.
The waitress kindly shut the door on me and my pants. The flush button proved to be a very small and cleverly camouflaged one on the back of the toilet.
Incidentally, that same day I twice failed to successfully lock the toilet door, and had people open it when I was inside. As I said to Oyce, trying to manage plumbing in Europe makes me feel like a lab rat.
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