Welcome to Public Bathrooms
I started a new job this week and with it came a giant step backwards in one regard. Gone are the corporate washrooms, with their auto-start faucets, and what seems like constant janitorial services. The building I now work in is open to the public, and so is the bathroom in the lobby, used by our suite-based organization. Before I get into the two mysterious incidents I encountered in a mere four days at this new job, let me tell you that the facilities are actually relatively clean and I like the fact that I have re-captured control of the heating controls of the water I wash my hands with.
The first incident that puzzled me ocurred on my third day at the office. I took a stroll for an afternoon piss, pacing myself for another appointment around 5:30 or so, well after I had arrived home at this new gig (yeah, the hours at this place are positively governmental). Walking up to the single urinal I noticed that it sounded like someone was using the bathroom stall next to me as a urinal. Settling into my most mentally productive phase of the day, my mind drifted towards a comforting valley of thoughts from Israeli-Palestinian relations to the assertion by some cultural anthropologists that the progress of societies is measured by our adoption of non-zero-sum games. But, something at the edge of my consiousness impeded my progress to the polar opposite of REM sleep. The person in the stall next to me was giggling. "What the fuck was he giggling about?!", I thought. Was someone in the office jacking off in the stall next to me, or maybe more innocently, someone likes to use the ol' cell phone in the crapper. Then I realized the nature of the crime. Looking under the stall, I saw urine splattering onto the floor. It wasn't concentrated in one area either. It was as if someone was performing a little pre-wash on their car on a hot Saturday afternoon before applying wax and all. The giggling continued as I walked to the sink to wash my hands. Taking a look in the mirror, I could clearly see whoever was in the stall was now attempting to peek through the stall door in an attempt to ascertain who had witnessed their guilty pleasure. At that point, I really had to question what my next play was. Do I linger at the sink, spoiling for my first taste of moral indignation for the day? Or, do I get the hell out of there as fast as possible, ahead of some exceedingly embarrasing first-week freakfest? I went for plan b, but I could hear the perpetrator hot on my heals. As I crossed the hall to our suite, I heard the door behind me close for a second time, clueing me in that the perp was now out in the open. I did my best nonchalant double-take (yes, you know the one ladies) and spied a short pre-teen kid, sporting a nuggets jersey, a spikey blonde dew, and a devlish grin spanning from one ear to the next, headed for the front door of the building. Classic. That little fucker had to run in and use our bathroom for a little FDNY action.
The second incident was much less dramatic, but no less disturbing. In this instance, I was the only one in the entire bathroom. My prospects for meaningful introspection appeared much more promising. Using the very same urinal (again, the only one), I started the normal process. "Ahhh," relief, do a quick one-over to check the place out and straight into total consciousness without consciousness. But wait! What the hell is that?! Those look an awful lot like fingernail clippings sitting on the top of this standard white-porcelin urinal! Under what conditions would fingernail clippings come to rest here?! Okay, let's think about this. Did someone actually clip their nails while urinating? Is that even possible? First, I can't imagine you could accomplish the task with a single hand. If this is true, it would seem likely that this perp had similar success or lack thereof in painting the target. Yet, the floors appeared clear of such evidence. That really seemed like the most-likely scenario. My other options seemed much less plausible:
a) Someone clipped their nails eleswhere and transported them great distances to deposit them here.
b) These clippings were once anchored to the floor of this bathroom, but over milennia were raised to the level of the top of the urinal through periodic flooding.
c) It's only a matter of time before I find myself in a very dark hole within the home of a coworker, who for some reason keeps yelling at me to put the lotion in the basket. So, what do you think? How did these clippings end up in such a mysterious setting?
The first incident that puzzled me ocurred on my third day at the office. I took a stroll for an afternoon piss, pacing myself for another appointment around 5:30 or so, well after I had arrived home at this new gig (yeah, the hours at this place are positively governmental). Walking up to the single urinal I noticed that it sounded like someone was using the bathroom stall next to me as a urinal. Settling into my most mentally productive phase of the day, my mind drifted towards a comforting valley of thoughts from Israeli-Palestinian relations to the assertion by some cultural anthropologists that the progress of societies is measured by our adoption of non-zero-sum games. But, something at the edge of my consiousness impeded my progress to the polar opposite of REM sleep. The person in the stall next to me was giggling. "What the fuck was he giggling about?!", I thought. Was someone in the office jacking off in the stall next to me, or maybe more innocently, someone likes to use the ol' cell phone in the crapper. Then I realized the nature of the crime. Looking under the stall, I saw urine splattering onto the floor. It wasn't concentrated in one area either. It was as if someone was performing a little pre-wash on their car on a hot Saturday afternoon before applying wax and all. The giggling continued as I walked to the sink to wash my hands. Taking a look in the mirror, I could clearly see whoever was in the stall was now attempting to peek through the stall door in an attempt to ascertain who had witnessed their guilty pleasure. At that point, I really had to question what my next play was. Do I linger at the sink, spoiling for my first taste of moral indignation for the day? Or, do I get the hell out of there as fast as possible, ahead of some exceedingly embarrasing first-week freakfest? I went for plan b, but I could hear the perpetrator hot on my heals. As I crossed the hall to our suite, I heard the door behind me close for a second time, clueing me in that the perp was now out in the open. I did my best nonchalant double-take (yes, you know the one ladies) and spied a short pre-teen kid, sporting a nuggets jersey, a spikey blonde dew, and a devlish grin spanning from one ear to the next, headed for the front door of the building. Classic. That little fucker had to run in and use our bathroom for a little FDNY action.
The second incident was much less dramatic, but no less disturbing. In this instance, I was the only one in the entire bathroom. My prospects for meaningful introspection appeared much more promising. Using the very same urinal (again, the only one), I started the normal process. "Ahhh," relief, do a quick one-over to check the place out and straight into total consciousness without consciousness. But wait! What the hell is that?! Those look an awful lot like fingernail clippings sitting on the top of this standard white-porcelin urinal! Under what conditions would fingernail clippings come to rest here?! Okay, let's think about this. Did someone actually clip their nails while urinating? Is that even possible? First, I can't imagine you could accomplish the task with a single hand. If this is true, it would seem likely that this perp had similar success or lack thereof in painting the target. Yet, the floors appeared clear of such evidence. That really seemed like the most-likely scenario. My other options seemed much less plausible:
a) Someone clipped their nails eleswhere and transported them great distances to deposit them here.
b) These clippings were once anchored to the floor of this bathroom, but over milennia were raised to the level of the top of the urinal through periodic flooding.
c) It's only a matter of time before I find myself in a very dark hole within the home of a coworker, who for some reason keeps yelling at me to put the lotion in the basket. So, what do you think? How did these clippings end up in such a mysterious setting?
posted by Junto at 10:55 PM
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