"HELLO, I AM POOPLOS CRAPAKAKAS AND I NEED YOUR BATHROOM."

   Oh, the cruelty of the gods. If someone just told me which god or goddess was in-charge of diarrhea I would have prayed to him or her for mercy.
  I have my suspicions it all can be traced back to that 'special sauce' from my Paris blog but there were so many delicious yet potentially hazardous meals after that I will never know for sure. The ferry ride from Athens to Mykonos was my first clue that something was wrong. Luckily it was a huge boat with ten bathroom stalls on each deck so me clogging three of them went unnoticed.  
  When we reached the hotel I wasted no time. "Hello I am Gary. I need your bathroom."
  "We'll be in the room in a few minutes if you can wait," Alex told me as he continued registering our names and taking care of the paperwork.
  " I would love to wait but I can't," I said as I hurried away to the lobby bathroom. 

"Alex, somebody stole my shirt, I swear!" 

"....again?"

    We were staying at The Elysium, the most beautiful gay hotel on the island.  It is designed in a high-styled 60's motif with white plastic, Lucite and luxurious creamy couches. The only other colors are the blue of the kidney-shaped pool and the orange of huge wicker carved-out egg shaped seats in a line on the pool's terrace that look out onto the ocean. The lobby bathroom was just as stylized as the lobby, as was the bathroom in our room, the bathroom by the pool, and the bathroom near the outdoor dining room. I quickly learned the location of every bathroom I could use in the hotel. They were so beautifully designed that I hated having to do what I had to do to them, even if it was only for a few minutes at a time.

"These chairs are terribly uncomfortable!"

   After a day and a half Alex was getting very concerned and wanted me to see a doctor. I was concerned too, mainly because I had no spare weight to loose. I wouldn't have bothered doing so much cardio on the machines in the gym  before the trip if I knew I would be loosing a few pounds just sitting on the toilet. I owed it to Alex and myself to try and get better as quickly as I could so I could eat and drink whatever I wanted and enjoy Mykonos to the fullest and drunkest. 
   It was Saturday and finding a doctor was very difficult. The lovely and talented Belgium drag queen named Jahn, who was the main entertainment at the hotel, recommended I go to the hospital which treated him very nicely when he fell down the stairs of the little stage by the pool and strained his ankle two years before.  
   I was still trying to look my best as I got dressed in a pair of dark blue light cotton beach pants, sandals, and an unbuttoned short sleeve shirt.
  " No matter how hard you try, you can't be sexy with diarrhea," Alex said.
  "Oh yeah, watch," I said, putting on my sunglasses.  We went to the lobby and the gay Greek man behind the front desk called us a cab to the hospital. "How do you feel? " the man asked me.
   "Not as good as I still look," I answered, striking the most attractive pose I could, making the man laugh and Alex roll his eyes.
    I was worried how much the hospital was going to cost and how long the wait in the Emergency Room would be. Neither was a concern when we arrived. The hospital was basically the size of a large one-level house with the same white stucco and blue shutters that all the other buildings had, and there was no one in the Emergency Room waiting area. As a matter of fact, there was no Emergency Room waiting area. There was just the Emergency Room that you walked straight into.
  There was a male nurse hairier than me standing in orange scrubs all by himself. I introduced myself and Alex then explained with a combination of English and gesturing what my problem was. 
  " Gary, you can stop pantomiming sitting on a toilet. I think he understands," Alex shook his head in embarrassment.
   " I was just making sure," I said, standing back up from a squatting position.
    " Can I see passport," the nurse asked. 
     " Is this expensive? How many Euros will this cost for a tourist?" I asked.
      " No worry. You pay little. Come," he waved me over to a one of three gurneys in one room that served as the office and examination room. He took my blood pressure then my temperature with a thermometer stuck under my arm, which made me feel strangely more away from home than even the nurse speaking Greek. He applied pressure with his fingers to areas of my stomach, then had a doctor in his early 30's do the same. I assumed he was the doctor because he had on a lab coat over his jeans and tee-shirt. Neither had on name tags or had bothered to tell me their names, which as a hospital employee myself, I was shocked at. I was equally as shocked by the open toilet in the middle of their version of a medication room where they stored all the drugs in cabinets, canned food and janitorial supplies including a bucket and mop. After I was hooked up to an IV drip for dehydration, I had to bring the IV pole with me into the medication room every time I needed the toilet. One time I was sitting on it as the cleaning lady, who was at least considerate enough to put her hand up to block her vision of me,  came in to get her mop and bucket. 
    By the end, I was given 2 liters of fluid with electrolytes that lasted for 4 hours and a pill which was "for my stomach". The doctor in the lab coat then felt my stomach in the same way again and told me it was gastritis. "Many tourists have. We give you what to eat. " And then, believe or not, as Zeus is my witness, he lit up a cigarette. But to his credit he did open up the window next to my gurney. 
    The hairy nurse gave me a standard print-out in Greek of a  rice and chicken diet for three days and a prescription for electrolyte powder to put in water. As he was trying to explain  I knew there wasn't a chance in Hades I was following that diet. He handed me a bill for only 20 Euros (How about that US Congress!!!)  and Alex and I hopped in a cab back to the hotel. 
   I starved myself for a day, took Imodium AD and drank bottled water with the electrolyte powder, and didn't drink any alcohol, take any Adderall, or drink any Greek coffee, and just slept for half a day. 
    Who cared if I might have had a little stupid gastritis. Frankly, I didn't give a shit the day after, both figuratively and literally. I was cured.