Toiletiquette

One aspect of human life is the withdrawal and embarrassment we feel when the topic of body functions arises, whether with people we know or, God forbid, complete strangers. We all have our private movements, I mean moments, and thinking about those times causes immediate discomfort of gastric proportions, except when it comes to bathroom humor. Who hasn’t made silly fart noises or dropped an SBD* and blamed it on the person next to them?

Liar.

I remember when I was a lot younger, I placed a whoopee cushion, also known as a Bronx cheer, under my girlfriend’s mother’s favorite living room chair cushion. She was quite proper. As soon as she sat down, it made a sound that can only be described as “a gust of wind from the rectum,” otherwise known as a skeezix. She immediately became embarrassed over the noise she knew she did not produce.

“Oh my, did I do that?” she asked, with a very surprised and puzzled look on her face, as if she was saying, where did that come from? It wasn’t me! My girlfriend, her father, and I burst into gut roaring laughter. It’s the same kind of humor that starts with certain words we learn as kids. Words like “poo poo” and “hiney hole” that made us giggle so much.

In real life, people do make weird noises and – gasp – smells, and they’re not funny. Years ago, when I was in the restaurant business, I had to deal with restroom messes and males and females of all ages, races and wealth are capable of making them.

Today, I stopped at a 7-11 for a brief break and a short trip to the men’s room to relieve myself. An older gentleman was waiting by the door. I browsed for a short while and when I glanced back that way, he was not in sight. Must be in there, I thought, so I walked over by the door and waited. And waited. In the meantime, a woman sidled up next to me and waited for the ladies’ room to become available. Suddenly, that door opened and out walked the man. I thought he had been in the men’s room all that time, so I walked over and started to open the door.

“You don’t want to do that,” he proclaimed, as if it was a dire warning. Too late. What a mistake. I peered in and it was as if the Gates of Hell opened up and released intestinal demons in that tiny, little satanic bathroom. In the meantime, I waited for the woman to walk out of the ladies’ room. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long.

“Someone please spray in here!” she exclaimed, as she opened the door and quickly exited. She was right. I guess that guy I’d been waiting for had some pretty important business to attend to, too, before he rapidly excused himself out the front door. At least, he didn’t leave a mess, but that lady was right. I entered and immediately held my breath as I did my business and then washed my hands.

I had warned the guy behind me not to open the men’s room door when he came up behind me. Now, I was compelled to warn him about the ladies’ room, too, but instead I told him, “I left the seat up for you,” as I left. That was my subtle way of letting him know it wasn’t me.

“Thanks,” he said as I walked away. I then let the store manager know about the condition of the men’s room.

“I know,” he said, “I already called the sanitation company.”

Sanitation company? Boy, we’ve come a long way since the days I owned a restaurant. Back then, guess who cleaned up the real messes when the employees refused to do so?

Later that day, I discussed it with a friend over the phone. Imagine, we thought, there are companies now that come around and exorcise clogged toilets for a living. They probably charge $35 to $50 a poop, I mean pop, and pay the poor employee $8.00 per hour. What a job! We were thankful we didn’t have to do that for a living, where all you do is go around cleaning up other people’s… well, you get it, but I don’t want to talk about it anymore, because it makes me want to puke. Just after I ate lunch. Sorry I brought it up.

Pffffft.

*silent but deadly