The need to stop at the services was unfortunate, mainly because the place was mobbed. Wetherby Services was, on this particular Saturday, the most popular venue in the north. The degree of popularity only became truly apparent upon entering the building itself. Mrs MWSC and I were amazed at the over-subscribed facility, and then suddenly dumbfounded by a queue for the toilets that stretched on and on. With no exaggeration, there must have been well over 100 people waiting to shit and piss.
The double take changed nothing – there were indeed people everywhere, and loads of them clogging the walkway, most in the queue. How could this be? We joined through necessity, and inched forward at a snail’s pace. In due course, it became apparent that the in/out area to the toilets was split by a roped barrier; in on the left, out on the right. Men were going against the tide to get in to the corridor, dodging the outgoing empty-bladdered visitors. It became clear that the male facilities were not oversubscribed, but the women were less well catered for. The backlog was jiggling with the wait.
I resisted the urge to abandon Mrs MWSC, and we held our positions as we eventually rounded the corner, and kept left while getting to the corridor. Another left turn revealed another 40 feet of females queuing. I decided to veer right and sort myself out while Mrs MWSC was stuck in the queue. As a complete aside, I ought to mention that the cashpoint machines (whose screens warned of a £1.99 charge for anyone withdrawing money) are located in the corridor. The designers were clearly deranged, and anyone wanting twenty quid would have to tackle a dozen women wanting to spend a penny.
Out in the main area, I waited for a relieved wife, and considered the mayhem all around. In the WH Smiths, people snaked around towards the till, ready to use plastic to buy non-essentials at higher than normal prices. Coffee drinkers were getting their fixes, and takeaway food of low quality was being served at exorbitant prices. I stood outside the main entrance to escape the oppressive atmosphere. While taking in the view, I noted six coaches and realised that this was probably the cause of the madness. Half a dozen coach drivers had deposited 300 people, each of whom wanted to make his or her own deposit.
A woman came from my right, and she adopted a strange posture. This could have been linked to her need for the loo, and/or to her inability to cope with the high heels and very tight jeans. The big arse formed the point in her profile that was a chevron. She leaned forward as she walked, sticking her arse out behind her. Mathematically, she was a ‘More Than’ symbol. I deduced that she was not a visitor to the women’s toilets because she came out again just three minutes later, this time ‘Less Than’ (for her reverse journey to a car somewhere).
Mrs MWSC appeared through the crowds and we made haste, leaving behind the addicts. I refer to the lunatics paying small fortunes for coffees, pasties, rolls and shite. Wetherby Services is itself a metaphorical junkie, desperate for its own fix – the repeated injections of mad people intent on pissing, shitting and wasting loads of money on food, drink and non-essentials as part of a frenzy during an intermission in their journeys.
No comments:
Post a Comment