Meet Me in the Bathroom

I returned to the bar from last week, or what I thought was last week, hoping to find Nikolai Fraiture's assistant. This time I was careful not to talk to the bloggers who sat in the back- I did not feel in danger of being discovered by them as they were utterly absorbed in their work. As a blogger, I know that when blogging one forgets the time of day, one hardly looks up, one hardly eats or drinks. I have heard, though it may have been from an apocryphal twitter, that a blogger once died from the sheer exhaustion of reading and responding to all his comments.
I was careful to set up my Macbook in the far corner of the bar, to the left of the door, and I was surprised to notice that there were far more Macbooks than last time I had been there, in fact the bar had been transformed into a hive of luminescent screens. My table, oddly enough, was made to the dimensions of my Macbook and allowed room for nothing else. I signaled for the waitress, who was thin, almost waifish, with sallow cheeks and stringy blond hair.
"I would like to order a drink," I said, "but there is no room on my table for my laptop and a glass."
"Well that has been a problem for us ever since you blogged about Nikolai Fraiture's assistant coming here, we've had to exchange all of our tables for these efficient squares in order to accomodate our new patrons. You really shouldn't have done that you know. We already had enough bloggers before you came here, but now we have to turn people away. You were lucky to have fought your way inside, most are left to wander around the building looking for alternative ways in."
"I imagine that would be good for business."
"Oh no," she exclaimed, "Nikolai Fraiture's assistant doesn't come here anymore, for obvious reasons- she can't have a drink without being twittered... Of course you bloggers will hardly admit that she's gone for good, even the slightest possibility is enough to bring you here. It's ruining our business- no one orders drinks and we have to pay for all the electricity being used by these Macbooks. I haven't managed to update my own blog for days because I haven't had my usual income from tips."
"I'm sorry if I have caused you so much trouble but one can hardly blame me for trouble caused by my readers."
"Readers!" The waitress laughed cruelly, "Why do you bloggers think you have readers! That is not the case at all. The blogosphere just has bloggers who blog about blogging and the whole thing generates these horribly destructive movements. You should have known that just name Nikolai Fraiture would cause an uproar. His guitar tech's intern's groupie would have been enough, but to mention that his assistant frequents this bar..."
"One can hardly blame me for blogging about the assistant, it is the bars job to protect their patron's privacy, it is the bloggers job to report what he finds. My blog, like any other blog is just trying to amass reader comments-"
"Reader comments are more of an absurdity than readers! You bloggers just create alternative screennames and write your own comments."
"Perhaps if I could meet Nikolai Fraiture's assistant that would not be as much of a necessity." I said and the waitress did not respond for a moment. I felt resigned and looked down at my screen. One must imagine my shame in having been so forward.
"Well, if you must know," the waitress leaned close to my ear, "We are in the same yoga class." She pulled away and smiled at me and I thought she had a look of certain desperation. I must confess I found myself, sometime soon after, with her on the floor of the men's bathroom, twittering and kissing, tearing away each other's clothing and sobbing with desire.