Toilette Humor: Not My Most Proud Post

Alright, this is it. I will start posting regular entries on..in..at my blog. I’m still not quite familiar with the terminology yet. I’m sure the novelty of the newness to blogging will ware…wear off soon. Let me explain early on (newness reference #4) that I cannot spell. Its not something I particularly care about, but it must be noted so you all don’t think I’m some big old uneducated guy. In fact I’m not any of those things, big, old or uneducated, though I am a guy, through and through but that’s the subject of a whole other discussion. I’ve been reading some blogs lately to kind of get a feel for them (newness referece #5, they’re coming farther and farther in between. Maybe its like reverse contractions, now that I “gave birth” (newness reference #6) they’ll peter (I know.) off.) That was quite the parenthesis thingy huh? So anyways back to what I was saying…jeez I really wasn’t saying anything at all was I? Man blogging is amazing. But I did want this post (ha! I’m pickin (newness reference #7) it up fast) to have a subject not just some ramble. Now this is something I’ve been working on in my head for a while. I noticed it one day while I was relaxing in the men’s bathroom at the office.

Semi-public restrooms are strange places. Not earth shattering I realize but let me share with you some of the going’s on at my little corner of the toilette universe.

Cleaning Lady Conundrum
Our building has a cleaning lady. In fact I suspect they have several. But the one for our floor is something of an enigma. I’ve spoken to her on several occasions and she has a particular way of speaking that’s ummm, unusual. First several employees and I suspected she was speaking Spanish. Now I should be able to spot Spanish when I hear it, I’m kind of fluent in it, but not this time. Then later after some tests we conducted (me staying at the office late and saying hi in the hallway) we determined that it was in fact English. The reason we couldn’t understand? She appears to be deaf and has learned to communicate audibly. Now I’m not one to poke fun at the handicapped…. alright I do it often…but its hard to understand deaf people sometimes when they speak audibly. So yeah, she speaks English but is deaf. What’s the connection to the restroom? One day I was washing my hands, the door opens slightly and there’s a knock and some sort of unintelligible (I can’t spell but BOY do I know some big words, see I’m educated) voice. I respond of course, with a noise merely identifying that there’s someone inside. The doors shuts and I dry off my hands. As I come out the door who do you think I found there? The deaf non-spanish speaking but kind of English speaking cleaning lady. And she says, “Sorry”, when I come out. Apologizing for walking in on me. Now my question for you, if she’s deaf HOW THE HELL DID SHE KNOW I WAS IN THERE? I have no clue, neither does the rest of the office staff, or my parents, or friends. As you can see, it plagues me. And yes the office staff always shares what happens in the restrooms. We’re used to having a whole building to ourselves and now we’re in a bigger place and share with a few other businesses so we’re always running into “interesting” people in the bathrooms and hallways. So there’s the riddle of the non-spanish speaking but kind of English speaking cleaning lady.




Men’s Public Bathroom Saloon Theory

Now I don’t know many women that spend time in men’s public restrooms. Except maybe the cleaning lady that I’ve decided to call Daredevil in homage to that other handicapped super hero. Though she’s not all that super, she’s just able to sense when people are in bathrooms. Not exactly heat vision, I know, but hey when you can’t hear you take what you can get I guess. So back to men’s restrooms. I’ve been working on this theory that connects men’s restrooms with the Saloons of the old west. Now guys can tell you their bathrooms are as near a sanctuary as you can get. There’s reading material, and there’s a chair where you can “relax”. Not much but we’re a simple people. So you come to these public restrooms and you find all manner of….relaxed “behavior”. Now the saloons of the old west were places where a man could go to “relax” as well. And was an outlet for all sorts of “behavior”. And I’m sure the smell of the two places is roughly the same. For example, the spittoon. What could be more relaxing then having a good spit. And I’ve noticed that many guys use urinals as such. I guess they make fantastic spittoons. Even better then the old ones cause you don’t have Gus the town’s old prospector getting plastered and putting his foot in it and spillin it all over your new bottle of Kentucky Red Eye or getting it thrown at you in a bar fight. You just push the handle and BAM it’s gone. Of course the reason I’ve noticed the whole spittoon thing is cause they don’t actually push the handle or in some cases even hit the urinal. Another evidence of the “relaxed” atmosphere in the men’s restroom is the conversation. For some reason guys get their defenses down or just get kind a friendly when using a urinal and will talk to anyone, even complete strangers. Much like cowboys trading whoring stories over a beer. Those are really the only two connections I’ve got, I’m sure there will be more as time goes on. Also I just thought I’d add I’ve seen guys go to amazing lengths not to have to touch the handle to flush toilettes or urinals. I mean they’ll step on the handle or kick it. And I swear to you I’ve seen someone push down a handle on a urinal that’s as high as 5’. I kid you not. And he did it like it was THE most natural thing in the world. I was like “jeez man ever think of taking up hurdling”? So yeah that’s the Saloon Theory.

The Asspants Confession

While on the subject of men’s restroom’s I have to share this incredibly embarrassing story, mostly at the request of my Old roommate Robb, who I’ve mentioned before. I’ll let you in on a secret, I can get pretty vain. So yeah if there’s a mirror I’ll check myself out, mostly to make sure my flys not down and that my shirts not all twisted around my waste. Now the story begins when I bought some new dress pants. I had just ruined three pairs of slacks in three weeks time. One to bleach, one to a print toner cartridge that also died part of my leg blue and painted my hands up like I’d stolen money from a bank and the little ink cartridge had exploded, and a third to a whole in the butt. So I went and picked up some new slacks. Man they’re sweet! So yeah I tried them on at home and they fit great, in fact I noticed, and yes go ahead and laugh, they made me look like I have a great ass. Now I’m just man enough to admit that I noticed that. So please let it go. Moving on. Fastforward to Monday at the office. I went to the restroom, did my business and washed my hands. Then noticing I was alone and I decided to check out my ass in the mirrors. I was busy checking myself out and suddenly I heard the door open, I looked up but no one came in. So I exited the restroom and there was this guy right outside the door, kind of waiting to go in. And umm yeah so he caught me checkin’ myself out in my asspants, as my Old roommate Robb has decided to call them. Man I feel better now that I’ve just humiliated myself in front of the whole internet. What will I post next? Who knows, but this is the last time we talk about the ass pants. Unless you’re my long distance relationship interest Aubrey. She gets a huge kick out of my ass pants story.