The Toilet Museum

“I work in a toilet museum,” he said, bracing himself for the inevitable. 

He expected puns. Puns were usually what most people went for. And he hated puns.

They would say: “I think I need a little time to let that sink in.”

 Or, “I guess you don’t really like to talk about work shit on a date. ”

 “I’m sorry, Vinnie, but it’s just, right there, you know.”

His name was Vincent, but friends called him Vinnie and like many of his dates had gleefully explained, Vinnie the Poo was just right there. So he had good reason to expect puns, just plain derision or a gargantuan attempt at self-restraint. What he didn’t foresee was cool indifference. And for that to turn him on so much.

She hadn’t even batted an eyelid when she heard it. 

“Oh!” she said, finally, her face expressionless. 

It was as if he had told her that he was an accountant or a clerk. When she went on to speak about the possibility of good weather in the coming weeks, he felt a little offended. That had hurt his ego a tiny bit. He had an interesting job. It deserved some reaction, even if it was muffled laughter.

The woman was tall and willowy, like a supermodel. But her face lacked the adequate amount of cruelty for her to break through to the top, he supposed. Not at all his type in normal circumstances, but these were not normal circumstances. He hadn’t been on a date in ages and his last steady girlfriend had been over a year ago.

They sat in a Mexican restaurant that he’d picked for its boisterous crowd and spicy food. His friend Claire had strongly disapproved of his choice.

“You don’t have a chance in hell to hold a conversation and even if you are lucky afterwards, the spicy food might mess with your game,” she’d warned him. 

But his logic was different. He didn’t want to “get lucky” on the first date, anyway. A night with good food and fun vibes laid the foundation for a stable, long term relationship. Not that it had done him any good previously, but Claire was kind enough not to mention that.

His date ate her taco in a single gulp without flinching while he was sweating buckets half way through his enchilada.

Impressive.

“Do you like puns?” he asked her, shouting to be heard across the din.

“I despise puns. They’re too easy,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye.

His heart beat faster.

“Easy, Vinnie, easy!” he thought to himself. 

But that was easier said than done. His brain was now on overdrive. Her fiery red hair and the freckles that dotted her face, the fact that she hadn’t smiled yet, and the Japanese (maybe it was Chinese, who the hell knew?) tattoo on her left arm; all of this indicated that she was way too cool for him, Vinnie the Poo.

“What do you do for work?” he asked, in a desperate attempt to humanise her. 

God, please let her be a hairdresser or an HR Rep. Or even better if she worked in IT.

“I’m an astrophysicist, ” she said. 

Fuck. He groaned on the inside.

She laughed for the first time that evening as she saw his face. It was magnificent.

“I’m only kidding! I’m a private detective,” she said.

“That’s even worse!” he said. “What do you actually do?”

She grinned. The proverbial ice had broken.

She had this aura about her that would have come across as arrogant for just about anyone else, but for her, it just added to her allure. It took him a while to adjust to it and she helped him by actually making an effort. She explained that she was always deliberately aloof for the first five minutes of a date, to weed out the weirdos and the egotists. 

“It works like a charm,” she said, smiling.

He had to agree that it was actually a pretty solid strategy.

An hour passed. The music had gone up in volume, now playing South American Reggaeton. His ex had been a fan, but he absolutely despised it. The crowd began to thin and soon, it was just the both of them and a group of people who’d moved to the gap between the bar and the tables to start an impromptu dance-off.

She was looking on, a half-smile on her lips, swaying her body ever so lightly to the music. He was already obsessed with her; obsessed with a capital O. Scratch that, the whole word in caps. She hadn’t once asked him more about his job. Maybe she was the one. He took a few deep breaths to calm down.

“What?” she asked, cocking her eyebrows.

He shrugged and then grinned. He was already on his third beer. He was no lightweight but he was already feeling it.

“So,” she said, smiling mischievously, with the air of someone who’d waited for as long as civility had permitted.

“You want to know more about my job?” he asked, eyeing her carefully.

She was wearing a red sweater and she carefully removed it, exposing her thin, pale arms. It wasn’t a sexual act by any stretch of the imagination, but he looked away, gulping. 

“Your work at the toilet museum sounds fascinating but that’s not what I’m interested in, to be honest. It’s your hobby that interests me.”

Vinnie slumped back into his chair. He hadn’t anticipated this. How had this happened?

“I don’t remember telling you about my hobbies,” he said finally, trying to seem unbothered.

“I’m a private detective, remember?” she said. “ It’s my job to know things.”

“Is that so?” he asked, trying to smile. 

“Ok, fine, Claire told me.” she said, grinning.

He felt anger bubbling up, but he’d have to deal with Claire later.

“That’s so cute, though!” she said, still grinning from ear to ear. “A doll collection! I would have been so jealous of you twenty years ago.”

He laughed, but he couldn’t hide his annoyance. She caught that and it made her smile even wider.

“Well, we all need a hobby, don’t we? Mine’s just more interesting than most,” he said, sighing.

“Are all of them Barbies?” she asked, and he could detect a hint of teasing in her voice.

“No,” he said, his face serious. “I think of them as historical artifacts. They say quite a lot about the time and place in which they were created.” 

She suppressed a grin and nodded seriously.

“But yes, I do have some Barbies.”

She burst into laughter.

It was all going so well. Claire had bloody ruined it. It was tough enough to date, with his job and all, but now this too.

She stood up, looking apologetic, but with a twinkle in her eye. “I think, earlier, I might have judged puns too harshly. Maybe I should give them another chance.”

“No. Please don’t!” he pleaded. 

“Ken you please be a doll and get me another drink while I go for a wee?” she said, in what he assumed was an Australian accent. “And I’ll be sure to give the loo the respect it deserves, mate.”

That does it. He was going to kill Claire.

---

When she had insisted that she’d wanted to go to the Toilet museum, he was a little thrown off, but he didn’t object. They got off the subway and walked to the museum hand in hand. 

She couldn’t stop giggling when they’d finally reached the museum.

It was built in the shape of a big toilet with an open amphitheater where the bowl was supposed to be. It was truly ridiculous; wherein lied its appeal. He doubted if many who visited were actually interested in the history of toilets, except maybe for plumbers, who were for the most part a bit too serious about it.

He took her in through the service door in the basement so that he wouldn’t have to use his key card. The security system was just half a dozen cameras near the entrances. His boss had been trying to get management to beef it up, but he doubted if protecting a few vintage toilets was high on their list of priorities. They moved quietly through service corridors and ascended the stairs to get to the ground floor. He turned on the dim lights they used while hosting late night tours in the summer.

“Welcome,” he said in a dramatic British accent, “to Wipe-arsic Park!”

It was lame and he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth but she was gracious enough, and maybe, drunk enough, to let out a chuckle.

For the next half an hour, they wandered from one section to another. She was fascinated by the crude mediaeval European ones, especially a reproduction of a French Garderobe with intricate carvings on it. 

“Imagine admiring the art, as you are sitting over this in a castle in the French countryside, your shit falling ten feet into a pit as your buttocks freeze over. Can you think of anything more romantic?” she asked as he doubled over in laughter.

When they’d finally moved from medieval to modern, it took her a while to recover from the fact that the man who’d designed efficient flushing systems in the late 1800s was called Thomas Crapper. Ironically, she had to go just about then and when she’d realised that no amount of pleading would let him let her pee in one of the vintage toilets, she stomped off in mock outrage to the visitor’s toilets. He followed, as he suddenly felt the call. When he returned, she was already sitting on the floor, looking a little peaky.

“Too much to drink,” she explained.

They called it a day and sneaked out without further incident. They said their goodbyes on the steps as her taxi arrived. He leaned in for a hug but she surprised him with a lingering kiss. He hadn’t felt as warm and fuzzy in ages.

---

He texted Claire the next day to thank her for setting him up.

“I forgive you for telling her about my doll collection.”

He reached the office a little later than usual after picking up his usual soy latte. What he wasn’t prepared for was an agitated crowd of co-workers talking in hushed voices in front of an exhibit.

“What’s going on?” he asked.
“One of the Queen Victoria pieces is missing, ” said Nigel, from HR. “The one with the diamonds.”

It was one of the most valuable toilets in the museum as the lid was encrusted with actual diamonds from one of the first De Beers mines in South Africa. In short, as invaluable a toilet seat as there ever was. 

His phone vibrated. Nigel was still looking at him as if expecting a reply. 

So he said “What the fuck! How?” 

“They couldn’t find anything on the CCTV. It looks like it’s an inside job.”

His phone vibrated again. 

It was Claire.

“What are you on about? I didn’t set you up with anyone.”

Suddenly, it all went quiet for Vinnie. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear a toilet flush, as the room began to spin.

Oh shit!