I know men envision the ladies room as this plush, heavenly space filled with dinner mints, perfume laced with unicorn tears, a masseuse, and impossibly comfortable couches. In Saks, this is absolutely accurate. However, in the grand scheme of things, I consider the ladies room a sort of Tenth Circle of My Own Personal Hell. This rings especially true in the workplace. It’s amazing what filth grown, college-educated, child-raising women can accomplish in an 8-hour day. Oh and the cell phones!
– The sinks: How in God’s name do you splash enough water on the counter/mirror/floor to rival Moses’ parting of the red sea? Did you hop up into the sink and attempt to bathe, neglecting to use the actual shower provided? Did you forget the endless supply of paper towels? Paper towels that do a marvelous job at mopping up excess water? Much like the excess water they absorb from your hands?
– The trash: If you miss the trash, pick up your goddamn paper towel. Hint – the only hands to touch that towel have been YOURS, and you JUST WASHED THEM. However, you do get an extra gold star for actually washing you hands. People question why I always walk out of the bathroom with paper towels and throw them away at my desk. Oh I don’t know? Maybe because I just saw your nasty ass walk out without running your hands until the slightest bit of water after I heard you accomplishing a MORTAL KOMBAT-style defeat of a toilet bowl. And you wonder why there are office-wide outbreaks of the Norwalk virus.
– The seats: How grown-ass women manage to drip piss all over the seat and neglect to wipe it up is completely beyond my comprehension. I know you turned around to flush your “bidness” (or maybe you didn’t, which is another problem altogether), and there are enough fluorescent lights in that bathroom to be seen from space. So you ignored it, and left it for someone to: (a) keep leaving it until the end of the day when the janitors are forced to clean it; (b) clean it up and risk infecting oneself with your nastiness.
– The bowl: Flush. No seriously. Those little handles are not vestigial, decorative, or extraneous. They are there to be used. A more utilitarian artifact does not exist. However, do not flush: 18 wadded up paper towels, printer paper, maxi pads – yeah, you can’t flush those. They’re fucking plastic AND larger than a bread box.
– The cell phones: I can promise that if you feel the need to continue your cell phone conversation on the crapper, I will immediately feel the need to let out one of the most offensive, ass-rippling, harmonic farts that you’ve ever experienced. And then I will continue pressing that most wonderful and useful flushing mechanism until you are forced to admit to the other person in your mind-numbing conversation that, “Yeah, I’m talking to you in the bathroom.”
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