Wednesday, March 04, 2009

The Human Condition #2

This has happened to all of us. You walk into the stall in the ladies' room and your heart sinks. The toilet is - dirty. You know what I mean. I don't have to spell it out for you. The person before you has had a bad day. Who knows what she ate last night? Lots and lots of fiber or whatever makes poop sticky -- I am not a scatologist, I was an English major. (Am I the only one who has wondered why eschatology and scatology sound so much alike?) You back out, but the other stall doors are closed and you really, really have to pee. Do you wait or do you go? The step class starts in two minutes and if you wait any longer, the good spots -- the ones far from that huge fan that blows like a hurricane which is just what you need in Wisconsin in February when the wind chill is two below zero -- will be taken.

So you suck it up and step inside. At least the seat is clean. On top. And you're not peeing hard enough to create any backsplash.

Photobucket
What's this tab for again?

You do your business and pull up your cute new Target workout pants (the ones that are not four years old and worn through at the crotch and I am not making that up) that are part of your plan to bankrupt your hardworking husband and put him in the poorhouse just so your in-laws can say, see we told you so! You flush and look. The water does not wash the toilet clean of the previous person's poop. Wow. That was some poop.

You open the door to see someone waiting impatiently for the toilet. She steps in as soon as you walk out.

But wait! you want to say. That's not mine! That's not mine!

You wash your hands noisily even though you usually don't wash when you pee -- oh, come on, it's sterile, admit it, you don't either -- and rush out of the bathroom.

Update
Just so my squeamish friends know, I do wash my hands before I cook. So chill.

2 comments:

AJK said...

It's is yours by association. Kind of like an accessory to a crime

John0 Juanderlust said...

There are times when even the most law abiding seemingly sane friends worry the hell out of me.