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Lost For Words
by John Brooke

He was an older gentleman and first time MXN diplomat late for a critical meeting at UNHQ. Rushing across the echoing marble concourse he felt a sudden urge to void his bladder.

The vast space was a confusing maze of signs, elevators, office doors, and hallways. He was desperate to find the public washrooms. 

A uniformed Security Officer was on duty, he rushed to him and asked directions. “¿Donde satisfaga son los servicios públicos?” Seeing the SO’s perplexed face, he summoned up a phase from his meager english. “PISSR”

“Your ID?” The diplomat pointed to his lapel badge. Hunched over dancing a jig on one foot to the other. Brow beaded with sweat, mouth contorted into a grotesque grimace. Grabbing his crotch.

“Oh, WYGGYGG. UGP need MR, PDQ. Cross to the WF ATM, turn RH past the DWP, the EMA, and UNESCO, then CC to the PWR.”

The diplomat danced away, leaving a trail of shiny droplets on the pristine floor.

Proud of his ARK the SO ALOL said, “SNAFU” to a fellow SO. “We best call UNDOS”.