Bog trolls

You must have seen 'em somewhere - the bloke (or woman) who stands by the sinks in the kind of bars and clubs that think they're a bit special when the truth is that they're just overpriced and have a higher-than-average tosser quotient. Now, I'm sure that some people get off on the thrill of having a flunkey to pump soap on their pudgy hands and then pass them some sort of paper product to dry themselves on, but frankly, I find it irritating.

Now don't misunderstand me: I'm no raging leftist who has a problem with the idea of servants or whatever, but this is a piss take. I do not need someone to put soap on my hands because I am not four years old. Equally, I am more than capable of grabbing a paper towel or using a dryer without any help whatsoever as I'm a big boy now. But it's worse than that. Whilst you are washing your hands they often try to force some nasty smelling aftershave on you as well. I don't know about you, but I'm guessing that like me you probably put on aftershave (or perfume for the ladies) before you go out of an evening and don't want to be accosted by some git wielding a vial of Hai Karate or possibly even Sex Panther (watch The Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy if you don't get that reference) because then you'll smell like the inside of a tart's handbag. While all this is going on there is quite often bad singing or 'motivational' conversation along the lines of "You the man, man, yeah you can do it, you can achieve your goals". No, I'm not kidding.

Finally, they'll exhort you to have a lollipop or something as well and expect you to pay them money for this molestation. On what planet of the strange fucking strange is it all right to demand cash for a service I neither requested nor wanted? I know we all have to make a living but this is a piss take and I got quite annoyed with the bog troll I encountered on Friday night. I asked him not to pump foul smelling soap onto my hands as the ordinary soap on the wall didn't smell of much at all which I prefer and he was handing out bog roll to dry your hands with. Bog roll. To dry your hands. Have you ever tried to dry your hands with just 4 or 5 sheets of bog roll? You can't. Anyway, there was a perfectly good hand dryer on the wall next to the sinks, which he was conveniently, or inconveniently from my point of view, blocking. I asked him to move and got a mouthful about how I was ruining his job.

By this time I just wanted to get finished and out of the gents so I could get back to my pint and conversation with my friends and I was rapidly losing my cool (those who know me know that when it finally does go it does tend to go quite fast and I will quite happily get nasty) so I told this gentlemen to "fuck right off" because "I didn't want [him] to slop soap on my hands" or indeed "hand me a fucking useless piece of bum wad" before leaving him in a stunned silence.

Yes, I know: it's not big or clever, but honestly. When a bloke goes to the dunny, he wants to do whatever he needs to as swiftly as possible, perform the necessary actions and sod off back to his mates, not be accosted by some pugnacious little twat demanding money for a service you don't want.

Obviously I'd never be so crass as to name-and-shame Henry J Beans in Bristol.

Ahh, crap.