Please to don't put the paper and other mysteries

I'm almost done here and just now starting to get everything figured out, even though it took me almost two weeks. I have randomly seen signs in the bathrooms with pictures of someone throwing their paper in the garbage. I always assumed it meant not to throw paper towels in the toilet. But when I saw the sign the other day that said "please to not throw paper in the toilet seat", it dawned on me that you are not supposed to throw toilet paper in the toilet. This explains why the person cleaning the bathrooms gave me the evil eye when I would come out of the bathroom and there would be shards of toilet paper floating in the toilet. I can't help it. 40 years and my hand reflexively drops toilet paper in the toilet. How can you have a national septic system that doesn't accept toilet paper? And what do you do with it? Well, it was pointed out to me. You put it in the trash can. aaaccckkk. No, that is wrong on so many levels. But I try real hard to comply. And sometimes I remember. But not very often. And when I don't, I stand there in the stall repeatedly flushing until all traces of paper are gone so they won't peg me as a foreigner who doesn't know the proper way to dispose of toilet paper. The amazing thing is, the majority of the bathrooms are spotlessly clean and the garbage cans are emptied frequently. In fact, I think the cleaning people hang out near the bathroom and that's why I've been pegged more than once as a paper flusher. Damn American.

The other thing I figured out is that I have accreditation to the Olympic Village. No one can figure out how I got, it but not only can I get in the Village, I can get in the residential area. (None of the doctors have it.) And I finally found the bus that takes you there. So that's where I went after work today. And the venue manager where I work gave me a staff meal pass, which at my venue, is no prize. It consists of a "hot dog" which is a wiener shaped food product stuffed in a bun shaped bread product slathered with ketchup and mustard. It is really bad. So bad that when a Greek says, "I like hot dogs, but that isn't right", you know you shouldn't be eating it. That comes with oregano potato chips, yogurt and a roll of chocolate cream cookies, which if you close your eyes, taste suspiciously like the cardboard roll they come in. If you don't want the hot dog, you can get a sandwich, which is a big submarine bread with a few leaves of cheese and something they call ham/zamboni but looks like salami and if you close your eyes it tastes suspicously like the chocolate cookies. The only other partially edible selection is a pasta salad, which is pasta, little tiny chunks of ham and cheese and a lot of olive oil. If you close your eyes, it tastes suspiciously like the submarine sandwich. So, needless to say, the food at our venue leaves a lot to be desired. But it's free. There are other things that taste better but they cost money. So, back to the Olympic Village. I get on the bus like I go there all the time. I knew it was the right bus because it was filled with athletes. I just hoped it wasn't the official Athlete bus and they would kick me off and say I was the Olympic Village Idiot. But they closed the doors and off we went. 30 minutes away. They don't want the common folk to find this place. Once we get there we go through several levels of clearance before passing through the golden gates of the village. At every point, they just waved me through. Could it be this easy? Why haven't I been hanging out here all along dammit? Sure enough, it was that easy. Next thing I know, I'm in a village about the size of Pflugerville, maybe even Round Rock. It looks like a giant new apartment complex in Europe (which it is I guess). Except that athletes from around the world are living there. Each complex has at least a flag hanging from one balcony and some have signs and other things announcing their team or country. Since I am limiting my walking to 20 miles per day, I decided not to hunt down the USA apartments as it looked like they went back as far as the eye could see. In the shopping village they have a post office, hair salon, internet cafe, flower shop, dry cleaners, souvenir store, etc. There were athletes EVERYWHERE. It was the Olympic Village after all. But they stood out. They were tanned and buff and big and skinny, all shapes and sizes but they all had a presence about them. I lurked. Went shopping at the store to see what today's athlete is buying. Damn, they're buying those stupid mascot dolls. Why? What do you tell your kid? Here is an upside-down cone shaped thing with rolls of hair, giant floppy feet and arms that stick straight out the side. I hope it doesn't give you nightmares. Anyways, back to the Village. Then I got really bold and took my meal ticket and walked into the massive athlete dining area. Got about halfway in before someone gently pointed out that I wasn't allowed in there. I almost made it to the fruit bowl. The dining area is probably 300 yards wide and deep and has wonderful fresh food as far as the eye can see. So close and yet so far. They steered me to the volunteer dining area, which I assumed would be the same delicious selection I am offered every day. Wrong again. This place serves up hot food! And I'm not talking about a microwaved cheese pie. And they serve fresh baklava. I was clearly assigned to the wrong venue. You get in line and it's a little like Luby's, which I know isn't all that impressive to most people, but after 2 weeks of submarines, it looks like heaven. AND a huge bowl of cut up fruit. Now, THAT'S what I'm talking about. Too bad it's so far away or I would come here to eat every day. So, I ate my meal like I always do at the Olympic Village, then I wandered around snapping pictures, waiting for someone to arrest me. But no one did. Walked around to the Village Center, took more pictures and once I reached my 20 mile limit, decided to head back. Hopped on the bus with the US women's soccer team, all giddy and yakking, ready to go shopping.

This is the life I was meant to lead.