STEPH DEROSA: PARKING FIASCO >>>

I think it's the decorative balls hanging from the ceiling that are my favorite part of the Mandolin Cafe bathroom. OK, wait¬" there's also the black wainscoting and the rock-replicate sink. This bathroom is pure fun when you add into it the high speed, skin shaking G-force hand drier. The mini-me and I can get a line formed outside the door with how long we take to stop and play with the drier. As I soak in the Mandolin bathroom, I capture my thoughts on how time changes with people, place, and things.

I've seen the Mandolin grow, change and develop. I was there before the beer and wine, before the huge magazine rack (remember that?), and before the little bands played in front of the fireplace for tips. Mandolin is in my heart, and in my fondest memories.

With all the cool coffee shops sprouting inside the entrepreneurial garden of Tacoma, I've discovered other places to get my fix. Admittedly, I don't really sit and drink coffee much anymore. When kids, Brad Allen, and probation officers start becoming part of the equation, it gets harder to be in one place for too long. Although, when my cousins said they would meet us last Sunday for coffee, the first place I suggested was Mandolin. I hadn't been there in so long!

I knew not to park alongside the building. It would be turmoil getting out of the spot, so I opted for a street-side parking spot. Oh, but no, my husband convinces me otherwise. He informs me that next to the building-side spot there is a No Parking sign¬" thus keeping that spot open¬" thus giving me a wider turning radius when it was time to exit. (Damn engineer!) Once again, as irritating as it is, and as much as I fucking hate it, Damon convinces me to go against my own plan and thoughts in order to do what he wants. Grrrrrrrr!

Inside, I'm ready for coffee, and I'm ready for some breakfast. I remember they used to have scones, pastries, ham and cheese croissants, and some other yummy breakfast options. Well, not anymore. I managed to find the very last bran muffin (These things are amazing), but had to fight off Damon for its possession. I don't get it, the place was almost empty, and it was only 9:30 a.m. Where were all the Sunday morning breakfast munchies?

The service was great; I met some really cool employees, learned more about the Friday night wine tasting, and had no problem finding a table for all of us to comfortably fit. I should mention: The coffee was beautiful and excellent, as always. The Mandolin Cafe gradually filled up to its expected Sunday morning capacity, and I was happy.

As we were leaving, I noticed that Damon's plan to have the empty No Parking spot had been foiled. Yes, someone was parked there. There was no way I could get out of the spot. I burst my way back into the Mandolin Cafe, and asked the manager-looking person to help me find out who was parked there. No, she said: I had to go around and ask on my own. Are you fucking kidding me? I went around and asked, went back outside, then went back in and asked around again. As I was just about to blow a mental gasket, a lady walks in, looks at me and says: Oh, are you looking for me? I'm parked in that spot. But I can park there because I'm the owner.WHAT?!?! You mean, you heard me ask for help, let me run around for about 10 minutes, go in and out twice, and the whole time¬" it was YOU?!?Yeah, but the sign says No customer parking, that's not me. I'm the owner.

Look, I'm only allowed 600 words here for Toilet Tales, or else I would bitch and moan for another 200 more or so. But I think you get my point: times may change, but my tolerance level for stupid shit will always stay low and on guard.