It has become painfully apparent to me that, on certain levels, the human race is a waste of skin.
I believe I arrived at this realization the morning I discovered a dozen chicken bones on the floor beside the toilet in one of the stalls in the ladies’ washroom at a local nightclub. Or perhaps it was the morning I came across a full roll of unwrapped toilet paper lodged in a toilet bowl in the ladies’ loo in a pub.
In either case, I’ve long held that the human race would be a concept with considerable merit…were it not for the people.
I say this because I’ve cleaned toilets for four years. Public toilets.
All one need know about the human race can be found in a public washroom. And it isn’t pretty. Anyone who has had the misfortune to clean public biffies for a living can regale you in toxic tales of projectile vomit and human waste on floors, walls and ceilings.
But food? In a public toilet stall?
I mean, I can think of a whole lot of things that I’d just as soon not do. Like attend a Celine Dion concert. Or an all-night Adam Sandler movie marathon. But I’m pretty sure that chowing down in a public washroom is near, or at, the top of my never-in-this-lifetime list.
Yet, apparently, dining in a public loo is as commonplace as breathing.
- The aforementioned chicken bones. Someone actually plopped her hide on the biffy and gnawed away on a dozen chicken wings.
- One morning, I entered the ladies’ washroom at the same nightclub and immediately noticed the walls and floor of one stall splattered with a red substance. I’m here to tell you it was everywhere. Except for the fact Helter Skelter hadn’t been scribbled on the wall, I would have sworn Charlie Manson and his gang of cutthroats had paid a visit. Either that, or some poor girl was having the worst menstrual period in history. Upon closer inspection, however, I found a half-eaten hot dog and French fries in the container for discarded sanitary products. The red substance was ketchup! This is not normal behaviour.
Nor is this:
- I was vacuuming the carpet in the ladies’ chamber at a golf club when suddenly Kerclunkslurp! Such a noise. A foreign object had been sucked into my vaccum and, upon investigation, I found a pair of white, lace panties. Help me out here, girls. How do you forget you’ve taken off your panties? And leave them on the floor? I don’t know about you, but I never leave home without my panties. And never return home without them.
Perhaps the ultimate example of bizarre bathroom behaviour visited me the morning I discovered a broken flushing handle on one of the toilets. Because I didn’t have a spare handle in stock, I carefully placed two strips of 3-inch wide masking tape across the seat with the words “Out of Order” on one strip and “Please Do Not Use” on the other. Well, I’m here to tell you that I came in the following morning and said toilet had, indeed, been used. Odd thing is (and this is reeeeally odd), the woman didn’t remove the tape. She actually attempted to piddle between the two strips of tape. Unsuccessfully, I might add, since she washed away all the lettering except the word “Out.”
I understand the need to pee right now. Believe me, when I’ve got to go right now, I run like a scalded dog and whip down my tights faster than the Happy Hooker on a 2-for-1 weekend. But to not remove the “Out of Order” tape on the toilet seat before peeing? Oi!
Now, before anyone runs off with the notion that these peculiar findings are restricted to the ladies’ loo, be advised that men are a rather disgusting breed. If it’s true men are from Mars, I don’t want to go anywhere near the place.
Tell me, fellas, must you really toss your chewing gum in the urinal? Must you really plant your boogers on the wall? Must you really hack up your loogies and splat them on the mirror? If you’re going to pick your nose or clear your throat, there’s a wonderful invention to take care of that. It’s called a Kleenex. Ask your girlfriend. She probably has one in her purse.
Also, boys, I’m guessing your momma toilet trained you, but I’m also guessing that you skipped a couple of classes in Potty Training 101. Like hitting the bowl. And when you actually manage to hit the bowl, flushing.
The flushing mechanism can be found on either the side or the front of the toilet tank. It looks like a handle because it is a handle. Alas, flushing apparently is much like expecting a man to ask for directions, but it’s dead simple, lads. Push down. Whoosh! Waste gone.
Still, having established that guys are gross, I must confess that the real Ripley’s Believe It Or Not nonsense transpires in the ladies’ loo.
So straighten up and fly right, girls.
And, one more thing, ladies: Leave the picnic basket at home.