If you aren’t a woman, or my husband (who has heard me grumble about this phenomenon several times), chances are you may not even know about the nastiness that takes place behind the closed doors of the dreaded women’s public restroom. Well kick up your feet because I’m about to make it clear as crystal, with more detail than you probably ever cared to know on the subject. That’s right---because if I get up from a toilet seat with a wet bum one more time, I am going to lose it! I may even find myself inclined to hunt the culprits down at this point. With me, I would bring the long string of paper squares that it takes me to wipe up after them because I am so mortified of touching any part of what has just leaked from their bodies. I will carry (with gloves) the wet paper trail to their doorstep and unless aforementioned culprits apologize profusely for their rudeness, they may just end up wearing it. Have you no shame? Have you no dignity? Have you no toilet paper to wipe up after yourself?
Is it just me (and sometimes by the looks of the seat I would swear it is), or are there not many things more disgusting than getting ready to do your business in the potty and realizing that you have just sat your precious behind in the pools of someone else’s urine? It may go unnoticed as you sit, but the second you move, there it is: the cool breeze of the air as it hits your dampened tush. The mere thought of it is enough to make my stomach turn, but when it happens for real, I want to take my soggy booty and force the perpetrator to give me a sponge bath right there over the sink of the Jackie Q Public restroom I am standing in. Chances are though, the peeing princess is long gone since she probably doesn’t believe in hand washing either (and don’t get me started on those that leave the restroom without washing their hands---at least have the decency to pretend you are doing it!). It’s appalling really. I am so bothered by the women who think it is OK to mark the seat of a toilet with their urine that I could just scream!
When I have called people out on this (I’m embarrassed for my friends who I have busted doing this and fortunately have decided not to name names here :)), I often hear, “I hate public restrooms and I’m not sitting on that seat.” Gee, you hate public restrooms? Do you think anyone likes them for crying out loud? Do you think the woman in Stall # 1 is sitting behind her door chuckling as she’s rubbing her butt around the seat simulating her hula-hoop moves until she’s dizzy because it’s just so darn fun to be there knowing no less than 50 other women have sat on that very same seat that very same day? I would have to say no.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like being there either, nor am I particularly fond of sitting on the toilet seat myself. However, back in the 6th grade when I was taught I wasn’t going to catch any awful disease by sitting on the seat of a toilet, I have to admit, sometimes it’s just nice to sit down and take a load off. Chances are, I may have been walking for two hours with four shopping bags in my hands and when I get into the bathroom and shut the door and hang up the bags on the tiny little hook in front of me and drop my drawers, maybe just maybe, I want to sit down for a few seconds. Perhaps I need a some time to ponder why I didn’t tell myself it was fine to have more than one green dress and why I need to march right back to the shop I came from to prove to myself that not only is it fine, it is more than appropriate and conceivably I want to have this precious moment while not sitting in someone else’s tiny drops of urine that I failed to notice before I sat in them, thank you. (I know, I know, there are plenty of run-ons to be had here, but steam is practically coming out of my ears and I just can’t stop the sentence to place another comma, semi-colon, or better yet, end it all with a period because I simply have to get out every last thought without a pause!)
The straw that is breaking that poor camel’s back enough for me to write about this is that even though the whole subject is something I can never stand, things have gotten trickier now that I’m permanently wearing a basketball. The balancing act it takes to tinkle without my rump touching the toilet seat isn’t as easy when lopsided. Getting lined up over the throne and stabilized so as not to wee on the floor (or the person’s foot in Stall # 2) is quite a sight for sore eyes. Here’s the visual: I’m several pounds in the gut heavier, my quad muscles are flexed to their fullest as I display a pitiful standing squat, my excessively large handbag dangles over my shoulder, one hand presses up against the wall on one side of me as I force myself to lean in that direction to gain a better stance. My other hand, when it’s not pressed against the other side wall or being used to hold myself up against the door, is pathetically trying to figure out a way to grab a foot of the tightly rolled toilet paper from the dispenser. I’m slightly out of breath. I give a good tug on the paper and one square rips off. Pull again and I’m lucky; this time I get two. The blood rushes to my head as I try not to tip over and stay somewhat upright. Third pull of the TP and it’s a buzz kill as I get something that resembles the state of Florida. Ugh. I contemplate the dreaded drip dry. Is it too much to ask for toilet paper that unwinds easily and in one consecutive motion? With the extra effort it takes for potty breaking at this point, can you really blame me if I’d rather just sit down?
Also worth mentioning is that I really need to get the full flow out and this is much more easily done if I’m able to be seated and allowed to relax. With how many times I’m hitting up the toilet nowadays, making the most of each trip is very important. If the urine release is interrupted because my body wavers, I don’t always get the chance to continue. It’s done. The moment’s lost. This means I’ve completed what I can for that session and ten minutes later I’m forced to return to finish where I left off.
Guys, can you imagine the sheer annoyance of the situation? It’s as maddening as being in a college football bowl pool and your team is up 38-7 in the third. You get the congratulations call/text/email from the buddy who wanted the other team to win and worse, you’ve taken the time to acknowledge the call/text/email knowing you’ve just fallen into the trap of the reverse jinx. 31 points later and a record-making comeback throws the game into overtime when you literally shed tears as your team squeaks out a field goal while the other proves victorious by answering with a touchdown to seal the deal. Sure you’ll get over it, but you can’t say the frustration doesn’t leave a lingering bad taste in your mouth.
Let me make it known that the problem does not stem merely from a woman’s choice to not sit on the toilet seat. The problem stems from the fact that if you choose not to sit down, the chances are better than most odds in Vegas that you are going to piddle somewhere on the seat. So clean it up! It’s simple, really. Surely you know what you’ve done. All I’m asking is for you to clean it up for yourself so that I don’t have to. What makes it ten times worse is when I don’t see the droplets as I approach and beyond disgusted, come to find that I’m now sitting right in them! It’s those minuscule pee beads (the kind too teeny for the naked eye to spot from two feet away) that really get you since sadly you don’t discover them until it’s too late. We’ve all been in this situation as women, and probably each of us has been the offender and the victim at one time or another. It’s time to band together and put the madness to an end for sanity’s sake. If it doesn’t stop, toilet paper stuck to my foot and all, I’m coming for you.
If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie, wipe the seatie! There, I feel better now.
3 comments:
You are too funny! I have to admit, when my bum gets damp I tell myself that it must be from the powerful forces of the flush spraying toilet water beyond the bowl. Not that that is any better than a strangers urine, but thats what I tell myself. I have learned during my many trips to the doctor, to "borrow" a hand full of alcohol wipes. They have come in handy. You just wait until you have to lay your precious little bundle on a public diaper changing station and open it to reveal a streak of you know what! Ewe!
My wife has lost her mind! The disclaimer was not enough. The post must be taken down immediately! Although I did enjoy the college bowl pool analogy the post overall was disturbing and then some.
L: Thanks for the tip on "borrowing" the wipes! Regarding your last point, I was at Macy's the other day and while drying my hands, looked to my right and two feet away from mom and baby on the changing table, that streak of you know what was staring me right in the face. I don't want to imagine what gets left behind.
J: You may have cringed a little, but I know you loved it.
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