Nov 18 2008
The Restroom Dilemma: The Return of the Hate
Many of you avid readers have read (and enjoyed) my initial blog post, in which I began to express my hatred of public restrooms. You all spammed it, stumbled it, and showed it to your friends (do it again, do it again, do it again!). I got many e-mails asking for an update on my emotions, and honestly, they sufficed. That is until today, which leads me into yet another journey into terror, horror, and utter disgust; the return of my abhorrence…. The Restroom Dilemma.
My eyelids close and I hold them shut for a few seconds longer than normal. I open them wide, one of those eye stretches where your eye brows raise and make your forehead crinkle. I’ve been staring at my computer for three hours trying to write a story. I look to the right and see two empty water bottles and an empty Mountain Dew can. Uh-oh, I think my bladder is about to explode.
I reach for my bathroom keys and drop them in the pocket of my newly acquired, 140 dollar white jeans which took me three months to find. I quickly walk out of my dorm room, not hesitating to close it myself, it slams and an echo rings throughout the hallway. Normally, I wouldn’t be so inconsiderate, but my pocket snake is about to spit up all over my jeans.
I power walk down the hallway, the carpet feels funny underneath my socks. They’re sort of thin and the carpet pokes through and kind of tickles my toes with every step. I use my key to unlock the door, it lets off a loud SQUEEK because our dorm building is too cheap to spray it with WD-40. My feet fall onto the tile of the bathroom, it’s cold and it kind of turns my feet numb on contact. The windows of the room are open at all times regardless of temperature, it’s our way of diluting the horrid stench of human deposits which intertwine in the air around us. I don’t understand it, it still smells like shit– just cold shit.
By this point I’m running, I swing open the door to my favorite stall on the far left, I let it close on its own because I don’t have time to lock it, the anticipation is building like a young boy’s seconds before he loses his virginity. I unbutton, unzip, and let the liquids flow. It’s not just a normal pee, it’s one of those which leave you with an open mouth and a feeling of warmth and delight. I can feel the heat raising through my body, particularly through my sock covered feet. Wait a second… Why do my feet feel warm? My eyes look down in curiosity. My white socks are stained yellow as I stand in a puddle of warm piss. Not just a few drops which fell off at the end of someone’s water hose, no, a puddle. It looks as if someone just aimed straight down onto the tile and emptied their tank.
“Oh fuck!” I scream in reaction, and I feel my muscles constrict then convulse, my body leaves the ground as my legs force me to jump out of Lake Urine. Fearing to lose my balance, I take both of my hands and use them to center my weight, forgetting that I was using Righty to aim my pocket rocket.
My loaded Super-Soaker falls down limply and begins shooting its stream of fury straight down. I watch in horror as my new, previously white, jeans get stained with a jet-stream of my own bodily fluids. I scream and reach down, but my attempts are in vain. By the time I re-aim my shotgun, the battle has already been lost.
My head falls in defeat as I begin the walk of shame, my wet fleet splooshing and splashing all over tile. I walk over to the trash-can and remove my socks like a defeated knight removing his armor, head hung in shame and embarassment. I drop them with a loud “PLOP” into the black bag, and sit on the counter to wash my urine covered feet in the sink. The stench flows up and punctures my nostrils.
As I begin to pump soap onto my hands in hopes of disinfecting my feet from whatever horrid and rotten diseases are covering them, I hear the door SQUEEK open from its hinges. I look up, and of course, it’s a pretty girl I’ve been trying to get the courage to ask out. To my amazement, the “Men” sign on the door continues to be a suggestion rather than a requirement. She looks at me with an interrogative facial expression and I look up with the shocked look of a deer in headlights.
“What in the world are you doing?”
“Cleaning a stranger’s piss off my feet.” I allow a brief moment to pass. “If I were you, I wouldn’t use the stall to the far left.” I drop my head and continue scrubbing away my misery.
Moral of the story? Never forget your shoes.
