Above the Toilet
We were eating at Lannam, the Vietnamese restaurant just south of Union Square. As usual, at some point during the meal I had to use the bathroom. (I can’t help it, I’ve got a small bladder or an over active kidney or something.) Lannam is not fancy but it isn’t a dive either, so I was shocked to see scrawl all over the green tile of the men’s room. You know the type of graffiti that exists in every men’s room of every academic building and dormitory on every college campus in the United States: drawings of penises, racial epithets, revolutionary rantings, illegible script that appears to be gang related, phone numbers of woman or men who are well accomplished in the art of fellatio, and insults of previous bathroom authors. You don’t expect to see this type of thing in a decent restaurant, although I suspect this to be the work of NYU students because of the close proximity of the campus. All it takes is for one wise ass to write something, and then its open season for anyone with a magic marker. Who the fuck carries a sharpie with them to a restaurant anyway?
