After finishing off my morning coffee the other day I went to the men’s room to read a magazine. Not really, but that’s the euphemism I’m going with.
There are four stalls in the men’s room and I try always to use the first one. I read that you should use the first stall because everybody skips it on the assumption that it gets the most traffic. Of course, those statistics are shot now if anybody else read that web article. I use the first stall because it’s first. Making decisions uses up my batteries. If I don’t have to make one, I won’t. Saves time on the recharge.
Opening the door of the first stall I find there’s dookie in the bowl. You can give people indoor plumbing but you can’t make them flush. I reached in there with my leg and toed the handle to flush, then moved to the second stall because, you know, dookie. I’m not uptight about public toilets. I know deep down that other people are nestling their bare butts on the same seat I have to use. I just don’t like to think about it, that’s all, but there’s no better reminder than fresh dookie, right? So I moved on.
The second hopper had dookie in it, too. What the hell? Has everyone contracted a strain of Alzheimer’s that’s corroding just the brain cell that reminds people to flush? I toed the toilet handle on that throne, too. And yes, that is because I’m uptight about public toilets. I don’t like to touch things with my hands any more than I have to. I will if I have to. I’ll use a pit toilet if I have to but, when I have the choice, I won’t. Tell me you don’t do the same. Oh, you liar.
Over at the third throne, the situation was going from lazy to ludicrous. More dookie. How is it possible that three different people coincidentally forget to flush at the same time in the same place? I don’t think it is. As crazy as it sounds, I think that had to be planned.
I looked around to see if maybe there wasn’t a camera recording me for an interwebs video, as if I’d have been able to see it if there had been one. Those things are tiny, and the hidden ones aren’t equipped with little red lights to give them away, no matter what you’ve seen in the movies. That scene where Denzel Washington spotted the camera in his bathroom was what made me give up on The Manchurian Candidate.
After flushing the third toilet I moved on to the fourth and last stall, took a big, deep breath before opening the door, and found … renewed faith in my fellow man. Either that, or the guys who sprung the hat trick on me couldn’t get a fourth to go along with them. I sat down to do a little reading and tried to forget what had just happened but, as you see, I couldn’t. So I had to share. You’re welcome.