Unfortunately, I don’t work in a big, fancy office building. My office is in this bizarre ancient shack, much like an old Lion’s Club or Rotary Hall. In addition to our offices shoved in the front few rooms of the building, the remainder of the structure consists of a big wood paneled hall with the requisite stage, a rodent infested kitchen and of course, boys and girls potties. We spend much of our time lamenting the grossness of the bathrooms (my boss just walked in with, “It’s like going to the bathroom in an outhouse!”) and I can categorically list for you the Top 5 reasons my work restroom is worse than yours:
5. There is no soap in the dispenser. There is an oddly shaped, 5 year old bar of turquoise on a summer camp plastic salad plate, but there is no soap in the dispenser.
4. It is freezing. Literally. We are currently discussing keeping a unisex down parka at our front door for the mad dash one must make to the bathroom. But now that I think about it, the only thing grosser than our bathrooms is the concept of a jacket worn for the sole purpose of using said bathroom.
3. The toilet paper roll does not rotate. Thus, to access anything beyond a single square, one must manually un-wrap the paper, much like flipping a bitch in a car without power steering.
2. This bathroom isn’t just utilized by us. If it was, we’d actually put some effort into making it acceptable. But this bathroom is used by everyone from the weekend driving school class to the annual pancake breakfast crowd, meaning that often, we arrive on Monday to an array of indescribably infractions. Just thinking about some of them make my eyes water.
1. The only thing worse than the ladies room is the men’s. As I was discussing this with my coworker, Ben yesterday evening, he offered me a tour of the men’s room. Each of my senses was bombarded simultaneously and as I ran out the door and into the fresh air, I concluded that the only thing more disgusting than women is men.
For whatever reason, the sink is approximately 4 inches from the urinal. Worse, within the lone handicapped stall is, in addition to the requisite toilet, a bizarre hole in the ground surrounded by less than a foot of white plastic. Had I to guess, I’d suspect this is where the scent of fecal death emanates from. As we stood in the hallway mocking the facilities, Ben mentioned that the bizarre design of our work restroom has created some uncomfortable conundrums of men’s room etiquette.
Men’s room etiquette?
Yeah, apparently, there are all sorts of rules surrounding the men's use of the urinal/trough. In asking my brother about this, he leapt at the chance to describe for me, in detail, all of the very specific rules involved in using a men’s room.
My favorite of Alex’s do and don’t list?
The very Ghostbusters-esque, “Oh, and obviously, don’t cross streams…”