In an ongoing effort to keep this blog classy, today I have chosen a topic of discussion that will elevate our forum to a new level of taste and decorum: poop. It is certainly not the first time I have discussed this. How can we forget the unfortunate mishap of poop in the trash can or the story of the poopy diaper left at the table? Both good stories, indeed, but let us delve deeper into the dark brown mystery of pooing in public.
Last week, I had a moment that made me question every life choice I have ever made. It happened when I went into the bathroom to blow out the candles and close up for the night. When I opened the door, a wall of odor knocked me down and raped my olfactory system. That smell tied me up, gagged me, and had its unprotected way with my nose. Someone had way too many lentils in their diet and used our restaurant bathroom to release the hounds of hell from their bowels into our toilet. I don’t know about you, but I need optimum conditions for doing a number two anywhere else but my own home. There is a whole formula that goes into account before I decide if it is worth pooping in a public restroom: how badly do I need to go, what are the consequences of holding it, how clean is the bathroom, is it a single use bathroom, what type of toilet paper is there, what is the likelihood of people knocking on the door and most importantly, will the smell seep out of the bathroom and let others know what I was doing in there? I know we all poop, but I still find it easier to pretend that we all don’t.
I hate cleaning the bathroom at my job. When it comes time for that, a simple sweep with a dry broom is about as far as I am willing to go. My cheap ass manager won’t spring for liners for the trash cans, so when it’s time to empty them, there is always the chance of a runaway tampon popping out to say hello. It’s not easy to empty a trash can without actually touching it, but I have managed to do it with the use of multiple paper towel and good balance. One time the trash can rubbed up against my shirt and I just about fainted right there. The only thing that kept me from fainting was knowing that if I did, I would then end up actually touching the floor with my face. Seeing that I don’t even like my shoes to touch the bathroom floor, my face touching it is not an option.
But there I was last week surrounded by the smell of hell. It was like a skunk made love to a rotten egg and then rolled around in Jennifer Lopez Live Eau de Parfum Spray. I bolted out of the bathroom and looked for the offender. I suspected the cook but the dishwasher looked mighty guilty too. I took a deep breath and went back in to fill the soap dispenser and make sure there were paper towels. Once out of the bathroom, I released the breath and prepared to go back in. I took another deep breath and grabbed the candle and trash can. This process was repeated three times making me hyperventilate and wish that I was anything in the world other than a waiter who had to do a goddamn bathroom check at the end of the night.
I suppose some people can do a number two any time and anywhere and if it means they do it in a restaurant, then so be it. I’m just not programmed for that. At my other job, I work with a guy who has no issue with it whatsoever. On my first day there, I walked into the bathroom where I found him standing next to the stall with his pants unbuttoned and his hands on his hips. “Bad news, dude. The toilet’s clogged and I just took a huge dump.” “Oh, okay,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you.”
What a shitty job I have sometimes. And by the way, does anyone else hate this commercial for Angel Soft where the guy keeps yelling to his wife that they’re all out of toilet paper? “Can you toss me a roll?” he asks repeatedly. You know what, dude? How about you keep the extra toilet paper in the bathroom instead of asking your wife to keep throwing it at you. Or better yet, go get it your fucking self, lazy ass. And also on the subject of toilet paper commercials, I am sick of seeing those goddamn Charmin bears who always have toilet paper dingle berries hanging off their asses. Hey ad execs: bears may shit in the woods but they don’t use toilet paper and everyone I know thinks those commercials are disgusting. Stop it.
And this concludes my classy and elegant discussion about poo.
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