Going to the bathroom. Whether it’s a quick pee pee or a toilet clogging event, its a part of all of us each and everyday. I don’t care who you are. At some point in your lifetime, you should be able to relate to this extremely uncomfortable situation. Most take comfort in handling this necessary business in their own personal bathroom space whenever they can.
Sometimes, unfortunately, we need to make a game time decision as our butt cracks start to part like “The Red Sea” and a 14 inch stale chocolate covered peanut chew on steroids begins to peak its head out of our anal crevice as we search for the nearest restroom in desperation.
This can be one of the hardest decisions a human being may have to make in a lifetime. It’s right up there with choosing a life partner.
When it’s time to go you simply have to go. We begin to explore all options as oversized beads of sweat roll down the eyebrow and accumulate in the corner of the eyelid. We attempt to clinch stressed out ass cheeks and magically encounter every red traffic light and 15 MPH school zone as the chief of police tailgates our vehicle sipping on his Columbian roasted coffee as a Boston creme donut stains his regulated cheesy police fashion statement mustache.
Bathroom options in these situations are usually as follows:
1. The random construction site “Porter John” that has been baking in heatwave temps just north of 98 degrees under an August sun after a 375lb sweaty flag man with the Zika Virus and a mouth full of fried Twinkies just spent his lunch break depositing last nights Zuppa Di Pesce over rigatoni.
2. Some local convenient store with a broken down restroom. The bathroom door has disintegrated from extreme moisture damage. Location is strategically placed in the rear of store right behind the cases of Doritos. The fancy bathroom interior decor consists of high end asbestos tile and a magazine rack full of Pakistan Porno reading material from the “Babes of Gulf War” edition.
3. Some fancy restaurant that makes us feel obligated to order $300 worth of “food to go” we will eventually throw out after we jamb up the plumbing system. We feel this is fair compensation for the use of their facilities and embarrassment future clientele will endure.
4. Then there is Home Depot. My personal favorite. Don’t get me wrong. I have been known to drop my draws in desperate times and release a deuce on the front steps of a local Church during a Live Christmas Nativity Event as one of the Camels looked at me like I just gave birth to
Baby Jesus at a wake!
I really had to go that particular time.
I feel Home Depot doesn’t judge. We walk in pretending to shop in the plumbing aisle as we hopelessly look up and search for the restroom directional sign.
The destination is finally reached. We now enter an environment I can only describe as a multi-racial rave with a bunch of constipated individuals suffering from Tourette’s syndrome and under developed frontal lobes.
There are normally three doors to choose from.
Door # one which has leftover wet toilet paper residue attached to the bowl and 18 wheeler skid marks stretched out across the tile floor up to the recessed ceiling lights.
Door # two which is built out of 15 giant Lincoln logs stacked up like a log cabin in foreclosure. There’s three dirty toothpicks on the toilet seat and a lit cigarette burning on the floor as a Hasidic child cries for his mother as she left him on the bathroom changing table in order to take advantage of a “one day only” sale of heavy duty plastic construction garbage bags.
Door # three. The money door as I like to call it. The one stall which appears clean because the previous occupant wiped the seat of his own urine and provided a courtesy flush. Although this space is infected with Hepatitis C and Herpes, it’s the best overall choice.
No matter what our fate may be, it’s time to take care of business. As we try and crap in piece we cant help but embrace the sounds of the person in the adjacent stall struggling as if they are giving birth to a Hyena. These vocal outbursts mimick a 500lb elementary school lunch lady with asthma running the 40 yard dash.
All this and we are trying to be courteous with our own personal poop and try and slowly let it crawl its way to the water beneath because we don’t want to offend the pregnant rhino or sub par Hasidic parent next to us.
We actually become so frightened that when we exit the Home Depot stall we will be greeted by three Mexican landscapers with black onyx wisdom teeth, an employee who works in the garden area and a Chinese man who just squeezed out rabbit droppings critiquing our bathroom performance!
Let’s not forget the unidentified person belting out Andre Bocelli’s greatest hits from his asscrack in stall # one!
Lastly. The shoes of our stall mates. Not sure about you guys but first thing I do is check out my neighboring crappers shoe apparel.
That determines my bathroom etiquette. If the individual in the next stall is wearing greasy gray new balance sneakers with freshly cut grass blades embedded into his shoe laces signed by the owner of Taco Bell, I will personally take a dump on the tongue of his shoe.
If you happen to have nice dress shoes on I will attempt to shrivel my anal opening as long as I can out of respect even though I will time my poop so we don’t have that awkward “post poo sink encounter” to identify who sounded like a rusted crop duster piloted by Barry Manilow with Laryngitis as we fight for a smelly brown cardboard paper towel to dry our hands.
I wonder what the cavemen did when they had to poop and didn’t want to offend others!!!!!