Inappropriate Bathroom Usage
October 10, 2007
So, I’m here at work, and this lady asks if she could use our bathroom, and we politely show her where it is, silently wondering how long it will take before she passes out due to the smell that it’s embedded in the walls from a male-only work place, and when she is done, mind you, 5 minutes later, something happens that I’ve never experienced before…
SHE WENT #2!!! #2!!!!#2!!!!! No, that’s not my SHIFT key getting stuck, she dropped a bomb ladies and gentleman. How does that happen? When does that happen? I’ve been alive for 27 years and have never experienced that. Sure, my mom or my sister have used a bathroom or 2 at JcPenney’s or another department store, but never did they use a bathroom at a small, intimate business, completely run by men, where the slighest burp is heard and laughed at for hours and hours.
Seriously, when did women feel comfortable enough to do that? I mean, my wife will literally risk a hospital visit due to internal injuries before she ever steps foot into a bathroom, in public, with the intention of sitting there a while. And, I thought that’s how most women were. I mean, women go on and on and about cleanliness and being proper and sitcoms on a daily basis go through that “put the seat down when you’re done” routine, and yet, here’s a woman, who’s heard all of that, probably even said some of those things to her husband, probably has laughed at that sitcom-rant thinking to herself, “that’s right, see honey, I’m not the only one” and YET, she traverses the male jungle that is the throne room and plops down and lets out all her angst.
I don’t want to live in a world where that happens. Women are cute, they are beautiful, they are dainty, they wear dresses and perfume, they smell good, we like them to be that way, and in fact, I don’t even think women go #2 (I refuse to believe that they even fart) in my little “man-fantasy-world.” I live in my little tunnel, you live in yours.
Mine will smell better at least.
-Love you honey.
December 2, 2007 at 7:42 am
Your time was not long but you did put some hours in on the dock at Dillards. Have you forgotten what women will do to a bathroom that they know they do not have to clean themselves. No matter the size or location of the bathroom, if they don’t own it, if they don’t have to clean it, all is fair in their minds.
January 4, 2008 at 8:16 pm
Hey…And sometimes, you just GOTTA GO!! And any port in a storm.
I remember when we were on a vacation in Mexico. On a drive from Mexico City, to Accapulco….winding mountain roads…in what they called a lemo. Actually, a Plymouth, driven by a guy with absolutely no wish to live.
I still can’t believe we weren’t killed in a head on collision, flying around those curves without guardrails….3,000 feet straight down.
And I was so sick with some bug I cought eating in the city, that I “REALLY DIDN’T CARE”.
As luck would have it….I NEEDED TO GO. I needed a place to stop….NOW!
Anyplace.
LOOK!! There’s a BANK!! Lets stop and cash a travelers check.
So while my wife cashed the check….I asked where the mens room was.
There wasn’t, per se a “Mens” room, but there was a room for the employees, and they must have sensed I kinda needed a place, so let me use it. (Musta been my bulging eyes, and furtive looks…not to mention the sweat running down my face.)
I had never before….and never since…exploded like that in someone elses restroom. I don’t mean loose. It was one of those gut wrenching, tear drawing releases that you wouldn’t think a human was capable of.
The sheer agony/ecstacy moment. Torrents of shuddering spasms tore at my body, wave after wave. I was sitting there soaked. Sweat was just rolling off me.
Cramps like you wouldn’t believe. I’m sure there were a few seconds there where I almost passed out. Maybe I did pass out.
Surely someone giving birth never fealt such pain.
Maybe I did give birth…..right there. Didn’t check.
But when it was finally over, I was just glad there was a nice fresh roll of paper, and the drain didn’t plug up.
I gurantee…for several hours that afternoon, the employees probably went to a neighbors to use the restroom. (I think it was afternoon. Like I said…I was feeling bad, and memory of that time is sketchy.)
But…like the lady in your story….”When you just GOTTA GO, you just gotta go”.
I was very thankful for the banks gracious hospitality, and I immagine that lady was also.
February 25, 2008 at 2:03 am
Speaking of bathrooms….
Have you ever spent any time at a hospital, airport, or some other public place?
I don’t mean as the patient. I mean as a visitor or relative of a patient.
I recently spent a great amount of time at a hospital. I mean like every single day for over a month. About ten to eleven hours each day.
Well….sooner or later, nature will call, and you are going to need to use the facilities.
Now I don’t just lounge around in the bathroom in this type of situation. When I use the facilities there,…it’s probably because I needed to go. Stress is a little high, meals are irregular, I’m nervous…stomach churning……you know what I mean.
So first of all, we aren’t talking about a huge, opulent bathroom where you walk in, lock the door, and the whole room is yours, to use as you see fit….all the room you can imagine. Not one of those places where you can sit and spread your legs as wide as possible, and not be able to touch anything with a knee no matter how hard you try.
Nope! I am talking about a stall. A stall located in a room that should have been a broom closet, except it wasn’t large enough. Some architect had a little corner that was useless for anything else, so with a twisted grin, decided to make it a public restroom.
Now this stall is narrow! It’s narrow enough that a large person (6’1” 250 lbs.), needs to drop his pants outside the stall, take aim, and then back in.
That is, of course, after you install the little paper seat cover on the seat. (P.S. Don’t get any water on that paper seat cover, cause it will stick to your butt like postage stamps, and need to be pulled off piece by piece.)
So…you get the seat cover placed where you want it…and get it to stay in place…(The little suckers sure seem to want to slide off and drop in), and you back in there, properly positioning yourself for the task at hand. Your left knee is resting comfortably? against the wall…trying not to touch that stain or smear of whatever it was….Coke maybe…and the other knee is pressed against the toilet paper holder.
They have these toilet paper holders that have a HUGE roll of paper. (My guess is so the custodial staff only needs to replace it once a week or so.) This roll of paper itself has no perforations…and there is no tear edge on the holder. You could pull out a hundred feet if you wanted to, but then you need to tear it off…..similar to ripping a rag in two.
So by this time, all is coming out fine, (pun intended).
Remember, now, this is not one of your normal restful situations. You are already stressed. You’re at the hospital, and probably there for a stressful reason.
Then this little interlude may have added to your stress, so your stomach is churning, you are shaking and sweating like a dog trying to pass a peach pit. (Remember that paper seat cover that doesn’t like to get wet?)
To make matters worse….have you ever noticed the water level in those commodes seems higher than in the pot at home? I mean it’s so high, I need to keep hold of myself to keep from dangling into it, and I’m not all that well endowed. But I’m not kidding…I touch.
So there you are, about to finish up,…. and what was it about that paper holder?
Well, it has a large roll of paper in it. By large, I mean that roll is about twelve inches in diameter.
But the thing that gets me is….where it is mounted!
Remember, now…my right knee is resting against it. Actually, my knee is resting against the top edge of the holder, and keeping in mind the closeness of the stall, and the position of my left hand doing what it needs to do, forces my legs apart, and my knee is rather tight against the holder.
So bear with me, and see the image in your mind. Not a pretty picture, is it?
I am 6’1, which means my knee is about 21 inches from the floor.
In order for the paper holder to hold a 12 inch roll, and still have room inside for clearance, the bottom of the roll of paper is down there about 9 inches off the floor. Seems like about six. This holder completely covers the roll, (probably to avoid some kid urinating on the paper), so access to the paper is by reaching up into the bottom of the holder, to find the end of the paper. If the roll is about gone, you need to reach way up in there.
Now remembering that stain/smear on the left wall by my knee, not wanting to get into that. And my shoulder touching the right wall….And not letting go with the left hand…I try to lean foreword, or backward, and get hold of that paper.
Got It!. Now…pull carefully. You gotta pull down, or it will bind. Can’t pull up, cause the roll is completely covered by the holder. And be careful so as to not drag the paper on the damp floor, (is that mop water…or ??) Now pull it up to where you can kinda squeeze it between your right knee and the paper holder, and tear some off. Remember…it has no perforations, tears like a rag,, and your left hand is engaged elsewhere. And don’t let the end drop, cause from that height, it will for sure land on the floor, and get wet.
Now that you have an ample supply of paper, (with the texture of 150 grit sandpaper), you go about the cleaning process, and…you guessed it! That high water level gets you, right on the hand. Now I don’t mean a mere little skim touch, or just flick of the water,…I mean that hand got submerged! YUK!! And Worse yet… probably gonna need to do it at least once again, probably more.
So you get that all taken care of as satisfactorily as possible, and you are ready to get up to leave.
Remember that postage stamp glue on the seat cover? That sweat has stuck that thing to you, and the process of standing drags that cover through the contents of the overfull commode, forcing you to perform a little dance in that closet sized stall, to keep it from dragging liquid/solid stuff onto your pants, nestled around your ankles.
To make matters worse, just as you are getting to your feet, you hear the outer door open, and it sounds like about three teenagers have entered the room, and are probably at the mirror, popping zits, which means you need to complete your dressing,( after pulling off all the tiny pieces of seat cover sticking to your butt), with the stall door closed, being careful to not loose your billfold, keys, or cell phone into the mix as you bend down to pull up your pants.
So I guess my main question is…why do they mount that paper holder there?