Bathroom Stuff

Hi folks,

I received a couple of requests for more tales from the toilet. So here you go with a blast from the past called Urine For a Story. Originally posted here.

Sorry for the bad pun, but within the last 30 days or so I have read three different entries about bathroom habits and decided to list my own commentary.

For those of you who like to play along allow me to begin by citing the entries that led to the flow of consciousness that resulted in this piece.

On the 23rd anniversary of my Bar Mitzvah Monsieur Bogner recited a tale of woe regarding the lack of bathroom etiquette at his office.

At the time I must have placed my brain on autopilot because if I had thought about it I could have provided him with some useful tools to assist him in solving this problem. You see back in April B2 at Toner Mishap did a fine job of illustrating the art of urinal selection. And when I say a fine job allow me to share some of the graphics he developed to go alongside his work.

As I mentioned, at the time I was reading the Treppenwitz post I should have mentioned the Toner Mishap post, but it slipped my mind.

A short time later the next post in this series appeared in which we learned of the challenges presented when technology fails to serve it’s purpose. And that leads me to the next section of this rambling, ambling tale of secretions and excretions.

At some point last year I wrote about a gentleman I know and his bathroom habits. I am not sure what he eats, but I suspect that he may be a cannibal or someone who consumes rotting flesh because the only way that you can enter the men’s room after he has been in there is in a hazmat suit. There is nuclear waste coming out of him that causes you to choke and gag.

A short time ago I was forced to respond to nature’s call in spite of the stench that permeated the stalls. As I exited my own and prepared to wash my hands a man began to enter and immediately began coughing. Prior to his quick departure he shot a look of disgust at me and I knew that he now considers me the cause of the olfactory offensive. It has since been confirmed because when he sees me approach the bathroom he makes an effort not to go in. Oh the shame to be seen in his eyes as if I am Pumba.

But returning to the topic of urine and urinals allow me to share a couple more observations and comments. I find it odd when:

1. men put their beer/coke/lunch on the corner of the urinal. I find it more odd to see them keep drinking while they are engaged in their business. It is as if they are concerned with replacing the fluid that they lose as fast as they lose it.
2. I hate standing next to a guy whose hands are behind his head or anywhere in my line of sight. I am looking straight ahead, if your waving catches my eye there is a problem.
3. I don’t like men who lean their heads against the bathroom wall while they are engaged in such business.
4. And I especially dislike being misted by the guy next to me. Yes, I admit to having had that happen. The force is so great that it sprays off of his urinal and onto me. This is one reason why I like to have space between myself and the guy next to me.

I think that this should do it for now, but you never know when tales of the potty may return.

“SONOMA, California – The long, strange trip continues for Jerry Garcia’s toilet. Police say the Grateful Dead leader’s commode was stolen recently from a driveway along with three other toilets and a bidet, The Press Democrat newspaper reported Saturday.

Garcia’s salmon-colored toilet was the subject of a legal battle before it was finally moved to Sonoma, to await shipment to a Canadian casino.

It’s unclear if the toilet was swiped by a wayward Deadhead or a thief remodeling a bathroom. Police have no suspects or leads.

Henry Koltys bought Garcia’s Marin County home for $1.39 million in 1997 and removed the toilet and other items he planned to sell to raise money for a charity.”

I don’t get it, but that is just me. It gets worse, in my opinion.

“Last month, Koltys sold the Grateful Dead singer’s toilet for $2,550 to online casino Goldenpalace.com, which planned to use it as part of a traveling marketing exhibit. The casino is offering a $250 reward for its return.

Henry Koltys said Friday that the toilet once stood in the master bathroom of Garcia, who died in 1995 at age 53. “It would have been his personal head,” he said.

The casino has made other unusual purchases in the last year — it paid $25,000 for actor William Shatner’s kidney stones and $28,000 for a grilled cheese sandwich that reportedly had the image of the Virgin Mary on it, Koltys said.”

There are a lot of ways to mark the passing of time. Once you finish school it becomes even more challenging to mark defining moments in time. One moment that stands out for me took place in the Carter administration, or should I say during the time in which good ole Jimmy was president. Anyone remember “Billy Beer.”

This particular memory is tied into a T-Ball game. It was my second season playing the game. I loved it and I especially loved that my team was in the championship. What I didn’t love is that I made the final out of the game. It wasn’t totally my fault. I was forced out at third base, but that didn’t prevent this little boy from crying because he wasn’t fast enough to outrun the ball.

I tried so hard. I remember running as fast as I could, but it just wasn’t fast enough. I still remember the frustration I felt. I was upset. I was embarrassed and I was a little angry. So to make me feel better my father took me out for an ice cream cone. He listened to what I had to say and then explained that we all have special talents and that as I grew up I would learn all about that.

Well, I could make this a long post and give you a heartwarming tale about how this talk helped me grow and mature as a person, but I’ll spare you. Instead I want to share a couple of my special talents with you.

Talent Number 1

I am outstanding at locating a broken shopping cart. If there is a shopping cart that has a bad wheel I can guarantee that I will find it.

Talent Number 2

When it comes time to checkout I can promise that I will find the slowest line. It doesn’t matter if there is one person in a line or 100, my line will be the slowest.

Talent Number 2

In a public bathroom I can promise you that the first stall I choose will be devoid of toilet paper.

I do have other special talents, but I think that I have shared enough for now. What are some fo yours?

He stole my lunch. It might not have been gourmet, but it was mine. A simple paper bag containing some food items that were specially prepared for me. Not unlike many instances of theft the event happened quickly.

I had been walking when I realized that I needed to respond to Mother Nature’s call. I entered the bathroom and placed my bag on the counter next to the sink and sashayed over to the urinal. It was a zip-n-zip moment, which was good because I was quite hungry.

The door slowly creaked open and a man with dirty blond hair walked in. He was wearing torn jeans, a pair of Doc Martens and a stained white t-shirt. Slowly he turned and inch by inch he walked over to the sink to stare at his face.

There was something about the guy that bothered me. He made me feel itchy and a little uneasy. He was my height and had a wiry build. His face was a little worn and I could see that he was not unaccustomed to working with his hands.

It is hard to look intimidating when you are standing in front of a urinal with your pal in your hands, but I did my best. In a different time and place I might have growled at the jackal. Somehow I just knew that he was going to do something to make me mad.

He must have been watching and waiting for the right moment because he timed it perfectly. When he grabbed my lunch I was in the first stages of the initial shake. It wasn’t like I could just start running after him, but at the same time nobody takes my food and gets away with it.

Cursing, I stuffed the little guy back into his home, zipped my pants and set off in pursuit of my lunch. He moved well for a guy wearing boots, but he didn’t count on the power of hunger and the passion a man has to protect what is rightfully his.

We shot down a hallway, weaving in between startled shoppers. I vaulted over a stroller and spun around the cosmetics counter. Barry Sanders never juked and jived like I did. I made OJ’s run through the airport look like he was mired in quicksand. I was getting closer. I just needed another moment and I would be close enough to grab him.

Just as I was about to tackle him the way was blocked by a group of nuns heading through the foodcourt. In exasperation I shouted “Jesus” and then continued on around them. By this point I was losing steam and beginning to huff and puff a little. I was almost ready to give up when he turned around and taunted me with “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.”

I roared in anger and gave it one last effort and caught up with him in front of the Cinnabon. He was trapped between me and the counter. He smiled at me and tossed the bag over the counter and dared me to do something. That was a mistake, a big mistake.

It took less than a second for me to close the gap between him and myself and not much more than that for me pick him up and body slam on the counter. As he slid over the side he managed to grab ahold of my shirt, ripping the sleeve. I was irritated when he stole my lunch. Now I was pissed off.

I jumped over the counter and grabbed ahold of the jackass. He was stronger than I anticipated with a grip that would have rivaled a pit Bull. But that wasn’t enough. I pinned him against the wall with my left arm and held him there.

“I hope that you are hungry,” I screamed. And with that I grabbed ahold of the Cinnabon dough and started forcing huge gobs of it into his mouth. “How does that taste? Do you like it? Is it good?”

He flailed around with his arms and tried to free himself. “Stop, stop, stop, please,” he stuttered.

“You’re right,” I growled. “I forgot the sweet stuff.”

Grabbing ahold of his collar I pulled him towards me and was the recipient of a lucky punch, a wicked right that stunned me. It was almost enough to make me let go, but not quite. Blinking away the tears I got him into a headlock and walked him over to the vat of frosting.

With a grunt I picked him up and dropped him into it headfirst and then staggered over to pick up my lunch. It took all of my effort to drag my body back over the counter and to a table. I collapsed into a chair and dumped the contents of the bag onto the table so that I could finally eat.

And that is when I realized that I had grabbed the wrong bag.

(and there you have a quick, first draft of a silly and sloppily constructed piece of fiction.)

Here is a snippet of what I listened to this past evening:

Waiting For The Sun– The Doors
L.A. Woman– The Doors
Seven Drunken Nights– The Dubliners
It dont’ Mean a Thing [If it ain’t got that swing]– Duke Ellington
Son of a Preacher Man– Dusty Springfield
A-Tisket A-Tasket– Ella Fitzgerald
Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting– Elton John
May This Be Love-Emmylou Harris
Mirror In The Bathroom– The English Beat
Cry– Faith Hill
It’s The Same Old Song– The Four Tops
It Was A Very Good Year– Sinatra
Friends In Low Places– Garth Brooks
Atomic Dog- George Clinton