Social Etiquette and a Discourse on Public Restrooms

Dante’s Inferno is missing a circle of Hell.  He left off the 10th circle which is the restroom at my place of work (which is actually the 11th circle but another story for another day).  Since he isn’t around to revise his little opus I guess I’ll write this section which I would aptly call “What the fuck is wrong with your colon…and why does your vag smell like Pike’s Fish Market?”

I work in an office with Pentagon level security requiring us to swipe our badge at least three times before even entering our suite of secrets.  One might get the impression I do something really fucking important.  I don’t.  I work for a company that bulldozes lovely forests full of majestic wildlife and beauty.   And in its place we construct architectural atrocities to satisfy the American obsession with consumerism. I envision the scenes from Lord of the Rings when the Orcs pull down all of the trees and set everything on fire. That’s basically what we do but in a more discreet manner that involves ribbon cuttings, live music and bunch of other bullshit.  We cater to bargain hunters seeking fancy ass handbags which are still grossly overpriced or people like me who won’t spend $120 on a pair of Banana Republic jeans when I can get the same exact pair for $40 at their outlet.

You might also think we would have our own bathrooms considering the measures we take to keep non-employees out of our secret little cult (and I use the word “cult” because everyone working here is drinking Jim Jones’ punch and buying into this crap).  But we don’t have our own toilets.  We have to share public restrooms with various medical offices also located in our building.  It should be noted that one of these medical providers is cardiology.  This means the majority of patients are morbidly obese, and oddly enough so are the staff…not the doctors, but just the skanky women who answer the phones and the nurses who communicate as though they barely made it through the 5th grade.  My own doctor’s nursing assistant weighs about 400 pounds and breathes like Darth Vader.  I’m pretty sure she keeps a steady supply of Big Lots’ brand cheese balls in the pockets of her scrubs…and yet she gets to tell people they need to lose weight and lower their cholesterol.  Kind of hard to take seriously coming from a mouth that has probably ingested an entire stick of butter in one sitting.  I’m digressing…

Right now you’re thinking to yourself “get to the fucking point because the title of this blog is misleading!”  I will but I just feel like atmospheric background information is important.  I’m setting the scene.  I should also clarify that we have a few employees of our own with various gastrointestinal issues including but not limited to IBS and Crohn’s Disease.  These are just fancy ways of saying someone has to shit often and it is usually catastrophic for their asshole.  And also traumatic for anyone unfortunate enough to be in the bathroom when Enola Gay drops the bomb decimating all life.

I understand that restrooms shouldn’t smell like that wonderful Eucalyptus Mint Bath & Body Works candle or Ryan Gosling’s neck. Don’t fret Eva because I’ve never actually smelled Ryan’s neck but I’ve had impure thoughts about being in a Chinese Finger cuff situation with him and that guy who plays the serial killer in that awesome show The Fall. The entire purpose of a bathroom is to provide a private place for us to empty the rancid rotting contents of our bladders and intestines.  That’s fine and I completely support having such facilities because otherwise we’d all be running around randomly shitting and pissing everywhere, sort of like my pet rats who just can’t seem to grasp litter box training.  And they’re supposed to be the dogs of the rodent world.  I think I got duds.

But what happens in our restrooms is not typical body content elimination…I’m not really sure what the fuck it is.  All I know is that at least 75% of the time our restrooms smell like someone who is lactose intolerant ate a sundae from Coldstone Creamery, followed it up with a few 7-Layer burritos from Taco Bell, swung through Sheets and got one of those gas station egg salad sandwiches with bad mayonnaise, and finally shoved a can of mackerel up her pussy and allowed it to marinate for several hot steamy days in July…while also failing to shower…in the past 3 weeks.  The smell of rancid shit is one thing, but then you combine that with dirty swat and you’ve got something equivalent to Agent Orange, or maybe tear gas since it will make you fucking cry instantly, and then years later you’ll find out you’ve got lung cancer from breathing in poop particles and dirty twat bacteria.  This is probably how I am going to die.

If you are one of the unlucky ones who happens to be in the bathroom when the shit goes down and the stench of an unwashed vag hangs in the air…no seriously, you can actually see it hanging in the air because it’s so thick, then you immediately come back to the safety of your very secure suite and warn the others.  It has become such a problem that we’ve developed a series of hand gestures and elaborate sounds like those of chimps warning other chimps of imminent danger.  We have also identified some of the repeat offenders so if we see them making their way down the hall towards the bathroom then we avoid the restrooms, up to a 30 foot radius minimum for at least 30 minutes.  We do this at the expense of our own bladders because the threat of a burning and painful UTI is preferable to breathing in toxic ass/pussy stink.

There are several other restrooms in this building that are more private, so it seems like if you know your colon is about to have a blowout like you ate an entire box of Fiber One and bad sushi, then you would have the common decency to spare the others and go off like an animal does when it knows it is dying.

Secondly, if your lady purse smells like beached sea life left in the hot and humid  Florida sun to “melt” then you’d surely know, wouldn’t you?  Maybe some of these women are just too fat to bend over and pull back the curtains, or maybe they have those really long drapes that hit the floor, giving the illusion of higher ceilings, although in this case it just makes your pussy look like a flat tire made of rare roast beef…smothered in Horsey sauce.  Or maybe everything smells like freshly baked cookies to them and that’s why they eat all the time.  Fuck.  I just made myself feel slightly nauseous but you really need to “see” this since you don’t have the displeasure of smelling it.  I wish I could bottle the scent and send it to everyone I hate.  Mike Rowe should do a Dirty Jobs episode and be a gynecologist at a free clinic. He could spelunk into one of those tunnels of terror and we may never see him again.  I wonder if gynecologists ever have to use those chip clips to hold things back in place?  Or is it like asking someone to hold your hair back while you puke because you are too busy gripping the toilet so your entire face doesn’t fall into the soupy water? Maybe that’s why the doctor always has an assitant in the room.  Note to self: ask my doctor about these questions because she did that whole “Doctors without Boarders” thing so I bet she has witnessed some horrific things.

I know this blog is entirely too long so here are the takeaways from my rant:

  1.  If you have chronic gastric issues then have a plan.  Map out the secret bathrooms in the building and use those.  Or just quit.  Or kill yourself.  I really don’t care…just stop shitting in the only restroom on my floor.
  2. Loofah your lady parts.  I mean really get in there and don’t ignore the folds.  And if you’re fat you probably have lots of them, sort of like all those double chins you have. This means you’re probably sweatier than others too and so your odor is that much worse.  Wash your puss daily…that’s all I’m asking.





Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s